


Poker Face

by tanwencooper



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek POV, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Parent Stiles, Stiles and Isaac are brothers, Stilinski Family Feels, Teacher AU, Teacher Derek, teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:05:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwencooper/pseuds/tanwencooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is there any punishment in the world worse than parent-teacher night? History teacher Derek Hale doesn't think so. That's until he meets the guardian of one of his more troubled young students. Stiles Stilinski has been left to look after his adopted brother Isaac after tragedy stuck their family and Derek is determined to help them if he can. However after Stiles and Derek's paths repeatedly cross, Derek's concern soon turns to something deeper. Soon the pair begin the game of attraction. The only problem is neither one of them knows the rules, and both wear their poker face too well for their own good.</p><p>FORMERLY TITLED TILF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poker Face

**Author's Note:**

> After re-reading [DILF](http://archiveofourown.org/works/487739) by [ twentysomething](http://archiveofourown.org/users/twentysomething/pseuds/twentysomething) (required reading for any Sterek fan) I started wondering what would happen if the roles were reversed and Derek was the teacher and Stiles the parent.
> 
> This is the result of that wondering. I should warn you that while that fic is a wonderful cup of frothy coco, this fic is more like a shot of Tabasco in the eye. Enjoy! There is however plenty of jokes peppered along with the angst, so it's not all doom and gloom.
> 
> Thanks to [hbrooks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hbrooks/pseuds/hbrooks) for alpha reading this fic and pointing out everything that was wrong with it so that now it is 100 times better. 
> 
> The teachers from the show feature a lot in this fic so in case you didn't know their first names: Marin Morrell, Bobby Finstock, Jennifer Blake. Harris is just Harris. He doesn't trust anyone enough to let them use his real name.
> 
> Potential mild trigger warnings. Details at end.

            Derek glanced up to the clock at the back of the classroom again before double checking the appointment time next to the name on his sheet. _Isaac Lahey 6:15._ Yet somehow it was nearly twenty past and there was no parent and no Isaac Lahey anywhere in sight. It appeared that tardiness was a family trait. Every tick of the second hand raised Derek’s hackles more and more. If this parent ever actually turned up then they were in for a serious talking to.

            He was not paid enough for this shit. The salary of a high-school history teacher was not enough to cover the pain that was ‘Parent Teacher Night’. He tapped his pen on the desk, unconsciously keeping time with the ticking seconds as he waited and his annoyance grew.

            The door burst open and an awkward looking young man stumbled in, hanging off of the frame. His chest was heaving and sweat dripped off his forehead like he’d just run a marathon.

            “Oh shit. You’re pissed. I can tell you are. Crap. I’m sorry. I was at work and the coffee machine exploded and there was boiling water everywhere and I called the repair guys but they can’t send anyone out until Thursday and I’m like ‘we’re a freaking coffee shop, we need a working coffee machine’. What are we supposed to serve the customers? ‘I’m really sorry, but the coffee is off. Would you like water or creamer’?”

            The boy pulled a face like he’d just said the punch line to some hideously funny joke. Derek thought ‘boy’ at first, thinking it was a student but then he realised that ‘man’ was more apt, even if the person stood in front of him probably hadn’t been buying his beer legally for very long. All that mattered though was that he was not Isaac Lahey and unless there was some seriously underage shenanigans going on when this kid was eight, he couldn’t be his father either. Looking him over Derek could see the embroidered symbol of a coffee cup on his shirt that was covered with stains and smudges. There were a few red scald marks on his toned arms as well. 

            “I’m sorry,” said Derek after a minute. “Who are you?”

            The boy stared at him. His mouth gaped before his eyes went wide in fear.

            “Oh crap. Did I come to the wrong room? Aren’t you Isaac’s teacher?”

            “I’m Mr Hale, who the hell are you?” said Derek, getting annoyed now that the shock had worn off.

            “Sorry. I’m Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. I’m Isaac’s brother.”

            “You’re Isaac _Lahey’s_ brother?” Derek asked, just to be sure. He’d been teaching for five years now. The wonderful and complex world of the modern family, filled with half-sisters, step-brother rivalries and secret love children, weren’t a mystery to him. It wasn’t his job to pass judgement.

            “Yeah,” said Stiles, leaning back into the chair heavily. He’d probably been on his feet all day. “I’m his guardian, hence the reason I’m here. It’s kind of a new thing. We’re still working it out.”

            “Ah. That might explain it.”

            “Huh? What? Explain what?” Stiles said, leaning forward off the chair again.

            Derek pulled over Isaac’s file and flicked it open. Inside was not the roster of a future valedictorian. He tapped the pages and looked at the open doorway.

            “Is your brother going to be getting here anytime soon?”

            Stiles frowned as he looked at Derek across the table. “Why would he be? He’s gone bowling with his friends.”

            Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. This was absolutely fucking typical. He has to give up his evening to talk to parent after parent about their mediocre kids, congratulating them on their averageness or trying to find polite ways to say ‘your child is just plain dumb’ and occasionally getting yelled at because he wasn’t ‘pushing dear Lydia hard enough’. Then the one kid that actually needed this goddamn meeting, the one failing kid who wasn’t just a complete screw up, couldn’t be assed to show and he’s stuck talking to his clueless brother.

            “Isaac is failing three of his classes, Mr. Stiles.”

            “Stilinski,” Stiles corrected quietly.

            “Mr. Stilinski. Isaac is failing three and pretty close to it in one or two others. If he doesn’t get his ass in gear then your brother is going to have to repeat the grade.”

            “Huh?” said Stiles. He’d gone very pale from the shock but that was kind of the point. Derek had always found that shock tactics worked best when it came to making parents see that their child who had once been a shining golden boy was rapidly coming undone as puberty took its hold.

            “I’m not sure what’s going on with your home situation Mr. Stilinski, but in school Isaac is acting out. Big time. He’s getting into fights, back talking to teachers, he’s in detention at least once a week, if not more.”

            “Isaac?” Stiles asked weakly.

            “He must have been showing some signs of this at home. Did you not notice your brother never bothered to do his homework? Did you even think to check? This kind of behaviour doesn’t end at the school gates?”

            “Well, yeah, but- I figured-”

            Stiles was faltering but Derek had already let the gates of his frustration at the entire parent population of Beacon Hills open. He was sick and tired of parents thinking it was _his_ job to raise their kids and getting annoyed when they screwed up.

            “Did you even know he was supposed to be here now?” Derek asked.

            “He was?”

            “Yes. If a student is failing even one class then he is supposed to come in with his parents, or his guardian, and work through what’s going wrong. But he didn’t even tell you he’s supposed to be here, did he? Did he give you the form? Did you read it? Do you even know that letters come home from school? I mean GOD! How the fuck am I supposed to help these kids when they don’t want help and the parents don’t even notice?”

            Derek stared hard at the man across the table from him. Stiles’ jaw had clenched and his eyes were wide. Suddenly, he slipped forward off the edge of the chair and there was the clunk of him hitting against the side of the desk.

            Shit. That had been a step too far. Way too far and now he’d made some kid playing at being a parent faint. Derek felt a little guilty, the kid so obviously had no clue what he was doing and while fainting was a new one on the list of over-the-top parent moves, it was at least a little bit his fault. He quickly stood up and went round to make sure the guy hadn’t given himself a concussion on the way down and was surprised to see that Stiles was sat on the floor with his back against the side of the desk. Eyes closed and hands on his knees, he was breathing deep and slow, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Derek hadn’t made him faint, he’d made him have a panic attack instead. Oh double shit. Please don’t sue, thought Derek. Derek wanted to help him but he’d had enough dealings with anxiety disorders to know when to back off and instead watched Stiles as he controlled his breathing to make sure he wasn’t going to actually faint now. Stiles’ lips were moving gently as he counted under his breath and his hands were fisted into his hair. After a second or two Stiles opened his eyes. It was then Derek realised how sunken they looked, like Stiles hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in some time.

            “You okay,” asked Derek. “I’m usually send kids to the nurse when they have an anxiety attack.”

            Stiles nodded a few times. When he spoke there was still the odd hitch in his voice and he had to fight to control the pace of his speech.

            “No need. I’ve had these since I was sixteen, I know what to do. Adderall can do wonderful things, but the side effects are a bitch. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

            Derek strongly doubted that a bad reaction to medication would send you off on a panic attack like that but he decided to keep his mouth shut. Stiles smiled at Derek, a lopsided grin that quickly fell when he made eye contact, unable to keep up the pretence even to himself and collapsed in a pile of limbs.

             “No,” said Stiles rubbing his hands over his face. “No I’m not fine. I am several million miles from fine and so is Isaac. I’m doing a shitty job as a parent. I knew I was, I go too easy on him, I’m never home, I don’t know what I’m doing but I thought we were getting by, you know, together. Fuck!” said Stiles.

            Derek looked at Stiles sat there, dejected and lost. He sighed deeply and slumped down on the floor next to him. Derek had caused this. He should at least attempt to fix it.

            “You said this situation was a new thing,” Derek asked. “How long have you been Isaac’s guardian?”

            “I dunno, like four months now? Since the summer anyway. My Dad- our Dad is the Sheriff. _Was_ the Sheriff.”

            “Oh,” said Derek bluntly. He didn’t need to ask anymore. The shooting of Sheriff John Stilinski had been all over the news when it had happened. A lot of Isaac’s behaviour made sense now. Losing a parent was always hard, a hundred times more so when it happened to a kid. Derek knew that better than most.

            “Yeah. I’ll do better. I don’t know how but I’ll- fuck, I don’t know! Take away his Xbox or confiscate his porn until he does his homework. Shit, what did Dad do when I screwed up or got caught sneaking out with Scott? It happened often enough, I should be able to find some good punishments there.”

            Against his usual nature, Derek felt bad for this guy. Isaac wasn’t the only one to have lost someone and now Derek comes along and screams in Stiles face for being a terrible human being. Good job, Derek. If someone had gone off at him like that ten years ago after his own family tragedy he would have probably punched them in the face. This guy was just trying to do what was best for his brother. He just wasn’t too sure what the best thing was.

            “Look,” said Derek. “Isaac is a smart kid. I took him for History last year and I don’t really remember him, which is usually a good sign.”

            “So I just broke him with my shitty parenting job? Way to go Stiles. Number 1 Dad.”

            “I’ve seen worse,” said Derek. “Just make sure he gets his homework done and that you know where he’s supposed to be on a school night.”

            “Okay,” said Stiles, mostly to himself. “Okay. Okay. I can do this. I just have to keep telling myself that and one day I’ll believe it.”

            Derek got to his feet and helped Stiles up off of the floor.

            “I didn’t know about- about Isaac’s situation. I’ll try to be a bit more lenient in future.”

            “No,” said Stiles remarkably forceful. “Don’t go easy on him. If he acts up then, well you just get them to call me in. My usual tactic of ignoring problems until they go away doesn’t seem to be working anymore. We are going to sort his out. No more Mr Nice Stiles.”

            Stiles stood up straight, as if thinking that looking like a parent would make him one, but Derek could still see the scared little boy coming through. 

            “Will do Mr. Stilinski.”

            “You know, that’s still weird. No one ever called me Mr. Stilinski before. Now I get it all the time.”

            “Try becoming a teacher. You won’t even remember your first name.”

            “Do you remember yours Mr. Hale?” asked Stiles.

            “Derek.”

            “Derek Hale…” said Stiles looking confused for a while, like the name was familiar but he couldn’t quite place it just yet. “Is there anything else you need to talk about? You know the official stuff you say to normal parents who don’t have a minor melt down on the floor?”

            They sat back down in their chairs and Derek gave a quick rundown of the exact manner in which Isaac was failing. Stiles kept looking like he was either about to run out the door or vomit, constantly twitching as if he was trying to find a comfortable place to sit or picking at his nails with his teeth. That’d be the ADHD, thought Derek. That couldn’t be helping matters. He’d seen enough kids fighting through the disorder, trying to keep it together for long enough to take a test. Dealing with that while also trying to raise a teenager and deal with the mountain of legal papers and social service visits that would be heaped on them right now would be enough to drive anyone over the edge. Derek began to see where the dark rings under Stiles eyes were coming from. It was a pity, thought Derek, Stiles would have been quite attractive if he didn’t look half dead.

            Derek checked the clock again. Their late start had eaten into the session time and Derek had the Martins coming in soon to talk about Lydia. At least she had the decency to be the smartest girl in the whole damn school. He got up and showed Stiles to the door.

            “Uh, thanks I guess,” said Stiles half way out the door. “Sorry about the whole… thing,” he said, trying to wave his arms to express what exactly had just happened.

            “Always happy to help,” Derek lied. 

            “I will try harder. I promise.”

            “I’m sure you will,” said Derek. He went to close the door behind Stiles when he suddenly thought of something. “One last thing that’s been bugging me. You know where he keeps his porn?”

            Stiles raised an eyebrow.

            “The external hard-drive in the old air vent that doesn’t work at the back of his closet. Come on, I’m his brother. I gave most of it too him.”

            He flashed Derek the same crooked grin he’d had when he walked in and headed down the corridor. Stiles needed to smile more, Derek decided. People said that to him all the time and it just made him want to frown even harder but Stiles looked like the sort of person who actually enjoyed smiling.

            Derek shook his head and sat back down at the desk. He wrote himself a note in Isaac’s file to keep an eye on him in the hope of never having to see Mr. Stiles Stilinski again. 

 

*****

 

            The bell rang through the class room and immediately Derek’s students got to their feet while he shouted out the final instructions of their homework. He cast his eyes over the hoard when he saw Isaac packing up his things.

            “Lahey. A word.”

            The kid let out a classic teenage sigh, rolling his eyes before walking over to stand in front of the desk, shoulders slouched and despondent. Derek could tell he was going to have his work cut out for him.

            “What?” Isaac asked. Derek levelled him with an accusing scare so he sarcastically added, “sir.”

            Derek pyramided his hands together, leaning his elbows on the edge of the desk and fixing Isaac with a stare. He could see the kid quail slightly, already knowing why he was here but determined to be defiant despite getting the full brunt of a Derek Hale glare.

            “Why weren’t you at Parent-Teacher night yesterday Isaac.”

            “Because I didn’t want to go,” said Isaac.

            “But you were supposed to go Isaac. Your brother didn’t even know you were supposed to be there.”

            Isaac grimaced at that and kicked at the floor.

            “So?”

            “I understand that things must be tough with your father-”

            “John is not my father,” Isaac bit harshly. Derek tried to find some further clarification in Isaac’s face but he didn’t think now was the time to ask.

            “Ok. Things at home are less than ideal but you can’t let that ruin your education. You’re a good-”

            “Kid, Issac,” the boy parroted back. “Why don’t you just apply yourself anymore? If you studied harder you could go to college, get a great job, get married and live happily ever after. Is that what you were going to say? Well it doesn’t work like that Mr Hale. Not for me. It doesn’t matter what I do, it always goes to shit, so why even bother.” 

            Derek kept quiet but didn’t break eye contact with Isaac as he continued to rant. Derek might not be very good at the caring and understanding bit but he had the intimidating glare down to an art. He’d once made a twelfth grader confess to having pot in his locker just by staring at him for not handing in his homework. Isaac managed to hold his own against it for a while but he was still the first to break. His eyes darted away and he shuffled his feet.

            “Can I go now?” he asked.

            “Your essay is due in on Monday. Make sure you hand it in this time or you will be in detention every afternoon until the exam. Am I clear?”

            “Crystal,” said Isaac. He threw his bag back over his shoulder and slunk out the class room.

            Derek watched him go. Why did _he_ even bother? None of these kids ever cared about getting an education. The few who did quickly had it beaten out of him by the others. At least it was lunch time. He walked to the staff room, poured himself a cup of coffee and went to sit with Harris and Finnstock, making up the full Council of Misanthropic Teachers.

            The pair were currently locked in a lack lustre conversation about the Kings game from the previous night. Harris really didn’t care about sports but it was better than discussing their woeful social lives or worse, the students, so they’d sit around and talk, filling the silence until they had to go back and teach the ungrateful masses once more.

            “Hello boys,” Ms. Morrell, the guidance councillor, said as she waltzed by. 

            Derek’s coffee was empty, so he excused himself under the pretence of getting another cup, walking over to her seat when he was full recaffinated.

            “Marin, can I have a word with you about one of the students,” Derek asked the guidance councillor quietly, almost like he didn’t want the rest of the staff room to realise he cared about a student.

            “Sure,” she said slightly taken aback. Concern for student welfare was not something Derek was renowned for. “But you know anything they say to me in a counselling session is strictly confidential.”

            “I know that but I have the feeling there’s more to this kid than the usual teenage rebellion crap.”

            “Oh?” she said. “Who is it?”

            “Isaac Lahey.” 

            She took a deep breath and whistled low.

            “I take it that I’m right,” said Derek. “I know about his Dad and the shoot-out but I’m guessing there’s more to it than that.”

            “Yeah. You could say that. I think you better join me in my office.”

            The guidance office was just around the corner from the staff room. Marin went to the filing cabinet, presumably to fetch Isaac’s file while Derek stared at the posters on the wall. They were ‘inspirational’ images or mountains and lakes, emblazoned with motivational but completely meaningless slogans. The room was painted pale yellow, a colour that had always made Derek feel nauseous. He sat down at the desk while Marin looked through the file. Suddenly he felt like he was the one being psychoanalysed. Jesus. If a kid hadn’t been disturbed before walking into this room they would be when they left.

            “How much do you know about Isaac?” Marin asked.

            “Not much. I only found out about his Dad when it was his brother to show up at Parent-Teacher night.”

            “I’m assuming you mean the Sheriff when you say Dad, seeing as your talking brothers with pulses and shoot-outs.”

            “Yeah. He said something earlier about the Sheriff not being his father.”

            Merin flipped to a page filled with the elegant hand written notes and read aloud.

            “Isaac Lahey. Born to Camilla and Daniel Lahey, brother Camden. His mom died in childbirth. Camden graduated school when Isaac was eight and joined the army, sent to Afganistan, killed by an IED after two weeks. When Isaac was ten his teacher noticed that he was withdrawn and quiet. Social services got involved and found Isaac was covered in bruises. Turns out his Dad had been locking him in the chest freezer every time he got annoyed.”

            “My God,” said Derek. How could you do that to anyone, let alone your own kid? The thought of destroying the innocence of a ten year old child in that way was enough to make any sane person sick. He heard stories like this occasionally, about one student or another, and every time it made him want to march over to the abusers house and see what happened when he gave them a taste of their own medicine. It wasn’t so fun abusing someone when they were big enough to fight back.

            “That’s not the end of it,” said Morrell and Derek felt his chest go tight, anger already rising. “Isaac was lucky, they managed to find a foster family right off the bat. The Stilinski’s, a perfect foster family. Mr. Stilinski was the Sheriff, his wife was a doctor and they already had a kid of their own.”

            “Stiles,” said Derek, remembering the man from last night.

            “Yeah,” said Morrell, looking up at Derek. “Why do you know him?”

            Derek pulled himself up straight, realising he’d been slouching. He felt guilty, thinking of Stiles when it was Isaac he’d come to find out about. “We met last night. He’s Isaac’s guardian so he was at the conference.”

            “Ah,” said Morrell. “I was wondering why you so interested. It’s not exactly your style to take an interest in the lives of the kids out side these walls. Curiosity got the better of you? Had to know the great mystery of Isaac Lahey.”

            “So why don’t you spill it Marin,” said Derek.

            She smirked at him, seeing how his interest was piqued, but her face fell as she carried on. “Isaac settled in right away and they officially adopted him after a few months. Then Mrs. Stilinski died of breast cancer. I talked to the Sheriff a dozen times, he did everything you’re supposed to do. It was sad but they got through it as a family. Then the shooting happened. Now it’s just Isaac and Stiles.”

            “Oh my God,” Derek said again. He didn’t know what else to say. He knew what losing a loved one did to you. It tore into your soul with rips that never truly went away, leaving you broken and battered. To have those not once but over and over again, one tragedy after another, wouldn’t break a person, it would shatter them.

            “I know,” said Morrell sadly. “It’s like the kid’s cursed.”

            Isaac’s words came back to Derek now. _It doesn’t matter what I do, it all goes to shit._ Derek had thought it was just classic teenage woes but now he saw that it was perfectly well founded. Post-traumatic stress disorder with a triple dose of parental loss before the age of seventeen. And Derek thought his life sucked.

            “No wonder he’s acting the way he’s acting,” he said quietly, mentally running through every outburst and missed homework, playing them back with this new information.

            “He’s supposed to come to sessions once a week,” said Morrell, “but he rarely ever shows up any more.”

            Derek could sense her own frustration at these kids that refused to help themselves. There was too much of that in your average high school, kids in dire need of guidance and refusing it at every turn. It was one of the reasons Derek preferred not to give a damn. To Derek, teaching was a job but Marin actually cared about her students and wanted them to triumph over their adversities.

            “How are you even supposed to deal with that?” Derek asked. “How am I supposed to work with that?”

            When he’d walked into the room Derek hadn’t cared, not really. It was just as Morrell had said: pure curiosity. He’d had half a picture and wanted to see the rest. Now he saw the full image he couldn’t just pretend he hadn’t seen it. There were too many elements of his own life in there, pain he himself had felt reflected a hundred times over in this broken young boy.

            “You don’t,” said Marin. “You teach him history, try to be understanding and if he has another blow out or a major issue you send him to me. And make sure that he actually comes to me. I’m sick of being told kids were sent to talk to me and then teachers acting like it’s my fault they didn’t show.”

            Derek nodded that he would and went back to the staff lounge. He sat back down but his mind kept turning over Isaac’s story in his mind. He wasn’t sure what he could do, but Derek knew that he couldn’t just go back to how he’d been before. There had to be something that he could do.

                       

*****

 

            Every time that Derek pulled into the hospital parking lot he felt the same swell of dread that he’d felt ever since he’d gotten that first phone call.

            ‘ _Derek Hale? This Beacon Hills Hospital. There’s been an accident. You better come quick.’_

It was the smell that was the worst part. There was a specific smell that you never found anywhere else, clean and chemical with an undercurrent of something rotten and horrid that occasionally wafted beneath it. He walked down the corridor to the long term care ward, the soft whirr of life support machines playing in the background.

            “Hello Derek,” said Nurse McCall as he walked onto the ward. “Is it Wednesday already?”

            Derek nodded in agreement. She was always friendly but never in that annoying overly perky way that some of the other nurses were. He knew he had to stay optimistic in a place like this but if a person ended up in this corner of the hospital there was a fine line between optimism and delusion.

            “He had a couple of bed sores but we cleaned him up and now he’s looking much better,” she said peeking in at the figure on the bed. 

            “Anything else?” Derek asked.

            “No,” she said sadly. Derek never expected a different answer but he always asked. A small part of him clung to the hope that one day the answer would be different. Nurse McCall patted him on the shoulder and left him alone.

            Peter looked peacefully asleep when Derek walked into his room. It was small and plain. There was no need for any decoration because Peter couldn’t see it and he didn’t need any bulky life support machines, just a drip to keep him fed and hydrated. It was funny, Peter was in perfect health apart from the fact that he hadn’t been fully conscious in over six years. Derek always made sure to sit in the chair closest to the door. From there the mass of melted flesh that covered half of his uncle’s body was hidden from view. It was easier to forget that way. Easier to pretend.

            “Hey Uncle Pete,” Derek said. “I finally got round to fixing the leaky tap last weekend. The one in the bathroom that always drips unless you really turn it hard that Laura used to whine about constantly. The seal was completely gone but it was an easy fix. That was pretty much my weekend. I was going to go to a bar with Bobby on Saturday night but there’s a huge lacrosse game in a couple of weeks and you know how he gets. He’s gone into panic mode, drawing up plays and tactic briefings already.

            “School is pretty much the same. Had Parent-Teacher night for the Sophomore year on Monday night. Pretty much the same as always. Parents complaining that somehow I’m to blame for all their kid’s faults. There was this one guy though, Stiles, he was his little brother’s guardian. There was a story.”

            Derek launched into repeating all he’d found out about the two brothers, saying how dogged Stiles had looked and how Isaac swung between violent and apathetic but after half an hour or so he’d run out of things to tell his uncle. He said his good-byes and, unusually, kissed his uncle on the forehead taking care not to touch his lips to the twisted mass of scar tissue.

            He had barely stepped out into the corridor when he full body collided with someone coming the other way.

            “Fuck! Hot! Fuck, fuck!” said a familiar sounding voice. He looked across to see Stiles in front of him. For a moment Derek was taken aback, feeling strangely guilty as if he’d just been gossiping about him behind his back and then realised that Stiles was frantically trying to clean himself of the boiling coffee Derek had just made him spill all over himself.

            “Oh shit,” said Derek. “I’m sorry. Are you-”

            “Fine. I work in a coffee shop,” said Stiles proudly. “You develop asbestos hands after the first week or you lose your hands. At least you managed to avoid my crotch. I spilled an entire pot on it last week and let me tell you… ouch. This kinda hurts but that _really_ hurt.”

            Derek let his eyes drop to the area in question, realised he was staring and snapped his attention back up again.

            “Were you okay? I mean you didn’t… you know?”

            “Burn my cock off?” Stiles supplied helpfully. “No. It was an old pot, thank _God_.”

            It took a lot of Derek’s brain power to not look down but there was nothing he could do to the image of Stiles’ cock that invaded his brain, which wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been for all the talk of boiling and burning that had gone before.

            The side of Stiles’ shirt was covered in a brown stain and he pulled it away from his body to cool until it cooled down. He dropped it back down, the fabric sticking to his ab’ muscles, that were surprisingly defined given his slight build.

            “I had to choose today to wear white. Damn. This was my favourite shirt as well! That’s never gunna come out.” Stiles sounded pissed and even though it wasn’t directed at Derek, he still knew he was the one who should feel bad. Stiles sighed and examined the stain more closely. “Well at least this isn’t my work shirt. It’s usually considered unprofessional to go into work with your shirt already covered in coffee stains.”

            “I’m sorry, I should have been paying more attention,” said Derek. He pointed at the crushed cup in Stiles hand. “Let me get you another.”

            “No, no,” said Stiles, waving his hand only half paying attention. “It’s fine. There’s like… a mouthful left in this one,” he said mournfully looking into the cup.

            “I insist. I was going to get one anyway.”

            Stiles gave him a sideways glance, as if weighing him up then nodded.

            “Okay then. If you insist.”

            They walked down the corridor together to the machine.

            “So how come I ‘ran into you’ here?” Stiles asked as if it was the funniest pun in the history of wordplay.

            “Funny,” said Derek blandly before answering. “I’m visiting my uncle.”

            “Oh shit, yeah. He was in the accident. I remember now.”

            “You remember?” Derek asked. Stiles had met him once for five minutes so how the hell did he know about the accident? Stiles looked up at him unashamed as he explained.

            “I remember the night it happened. My Dad’s the Sheriff. I can always tell when a big accident like that happened. Could tell,” said Stiles correcting himself.

            Derek remembered that stage. When you still said ‘is’ instead of ‘was’. It took him months to get the hang of it, every time he caught himself hurt a little bit more. He still slipped up from time to time, even now. 

            Stiles continued. “He’d come home and he’d have this look and you’d just know that something bad had happened that day. Not the usual drug pushers and shoplifters but something sad. Like a kid getting hit by a car or having to be forcefully taken into state custody or-”

            “A whole family getting killed in a car crash?” Derek finished.

            Stiles looked at him and to Derek’s surprise, it wasn’t with pity. Stiles just looked. Derek hated the pity. The pity made it worse. They wouldn’t pity him if they knew the whole story, if they knew that it was all his fault.

            “Yeah, or something like that.”

            Derek remembered seeing the Sheriff standing at the side of the pitch as he trained with the lacrosse team. Derek had insisted that he be the one to call Laura. She was away at college and he hadn’t been able to get a hold of her until the next morning. That had been the loneliest night of Derek’s life.

            His parents had been sitting in the front seat and died instantly. Peter’s wife had managed to make it to hospital before she succumbed to her injuries. Their daughter had lasted a whole week, covered in burns from where the gas tank had caught fire. Perhaps it was better that Peter had never woken up. No parent was supposed to have to bury their own child.

            “Sorry if this seems kind of ‘invading your personal space’,” said Stiles, “but your name sounded familiar when I met you the other night. It was driving me nuts so I Googled you. It’s the cop in me, always got to get to the bottom of it.”

            “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind. Saves me having to explain everything again.”

            “Doesn’t that suck!” said Stiles, enthusiastic to have someone as well versed in loss as he was. “People think they’re helping but you have relive the whole thing, blow by blow when you just want to forget it and move on with life.”

            They’d reached the vending machine at the end of the corridor and Derek punched the buttons of the machine, getting a coffee for himself and Stiles.

            “It gets easier,” said Derek handing Stiles his cup. “After a few months everyone has asked and after a few years everyone’s forgotten.”

            “Except me,” said Stiles distantly.

            “Yeah. Except you.”

            They stood in silent, remembering the things they could never forget, even if they tried, even if they wanted too.

            “How long has it been since the accident?” Stiles asked turning back down the corridor.

            “It wasn’t an accident,” Derek said before he realised what he was saying. He’d been lulled into a truthful mood by this guy and he’d blurted it out before he’d even thought about what he was revealing.

            “It wasn’t?” asked Stiles, curious rather than prying.

            Derek didn’t know why he explained the full story but he did. Usually he would try his hardest to hide the truth of the crash, his part in it, but he wanted to tell the full story now. Maybe enough time had passed and it was time to let it all out. This was his confessional and Stiles was his priest. 

            “They never managed to prove anything,” he began, “but the woman who was driving the other car was my ex, Kate.”

            “Oh,” said Stiles.

            “She was older than me. By about ten years. I was eighteen so there was nothing illegal but I was still in high-school. My parents found out and they were less than happy. Long story short, I broke it off. Then a week later she just happens to be in the car that rammed my parent’s off the interstate.”

            Derek had never known why she’d done it. Perhaps it had really been an accident, a coincidence. Maybe she’d been distracted by seeing her ex’s family in the car next to hers. The investigators hadn’t been able to say one way or the other, so ruled it an accident. Derek never believed it though. He’d been blind to Kate’s dark side while they were dating but after the accident he saw all the edges to every word she had given him, the black intentions behind her actions.

            “That is one crazy-assed woman,” said Stiles. “But she’s, like, dead now isn’t she. I’m pretty sure I read that the other driver died as well.”

            Derek couldn’t help but laugh. Most people would be patting him on the shoulder right now, telling him that it wasn’t his fault and everything will be okay, stop blaming yourself. Stiles was not most people, it seemed.

            “Yeah. She died too,” said Derek.

            “Awesome. Well this has been a happy chat,” said Stiles.

            They’d ended up back outside a room in the ward without Derek really realising it. Talking to Stiles had been easy. Talking had never come naturally to Derek, less so since the accident. Derek peeked around the door. There were more machines in this room than there were in Peter’s. There were plants and flowers as well, so it was bright and colourful rather than the dull mint green of his uncle’s room.

            “Your Dad?” Derek asked.

            “Yeah,” said Stiles. 

            He sounded sad. Derek felt guilty for making him sound sad. He nearly said ‘I’m sure he’ll be okay’ before remembering how angry it had made him when people had said that about his uncle.

            “How’s it going?” he asked.

            “Alright,” Stiles sighed. “He had another operation a few weeks ago. Something about alleviating the swelling on his brain. I looked it up when I got home but I couldn’t get my head round it. Turns out neurosurgery is really complicated. They removed the bullet cleanly when he first came in, so it’s just about waiting to see what happens next. We’re kind of in that transition between ‘no news is good news’ and ‘no news is a persistent vegetative state’.”

            He sounded strangely upbeat, considering he was talking about his father’s recovery from being shot in the head by a meth addict. It had been all over the news when it happened, even made a few of the bigger networks. ‘Small town Sheriff shot saving shoppers from an armed robber’. Derek remembered reading in the paper that he’d had a couple of sons. It was strange to associate them to the boy he taught and the man stood beside him now.

            “How is Isaac handling all this?” Derek asked.

            Stiles looked at him incredulously.

            “Do you remember Parent-Teacher Night? You knew how Isaac was handling this better than I did.”

            “It’s never easy when you lose someone,” said Derek.

            “I used to spend nights sitting up, waiting for my Dad to come home, or with my hand on the phone expecting to get that call, that something had happened to him while he was out on patrol. When it finally came though…”

            “I know. I felt the same way after the crash and just when I was getting over it, bam. My sister was shot and killed by a hunter when she was out jogging.”

            Stiles looked at him with narrow eyes before shaking his head. 

            “Aren’t we just the happiest pair in the world?” said Stiles. He lifted his cup towards Derek. “To living a life of loss and pain. Cheers!”

            “Cheers,” said Derek half laughing as they clipped the plastic together and took a gulp.

            “Eugh,” said Stiles. “I always hope that one day I’ll drink hospital coffee and it won’t taste like an enema and every day I am disappointed.”

            “Do I want to know how you know what an enema tastes like?”

            Stiles said nothing but cocked an eye brow as he took another sip. He was smiling. He didn’t look so tired when he smiled. In fact, he actually looked quite handsome. Not in an overstated way but he was definitely easy on the eye. Derek wondered if Stiles could tell his eyes were trailing down the slope of his neck.

            “I see you made a friend Stiles,” said Nurse McCall, appearing behind him.

            “Hey Melissa. This is Isaac’s history teacher. His uncle-”

            “Lives next door. I know. I work here.”

            She laid a comforting hand on Stiles shoulder, squeezing it gently in a way that suggested that their relationship went deeper than a brief acquaintance in the hospital.

            “Derek this is Melissa McCall. Melissa’s Scott’s mom. She was kind of a surrogate mom to me and Isaac when ours, you know, died.”

            Stiles offered up no further comment on who, exactly, Scott was but Melissa ruffled Stiles’ hair like a little kid.

            “Yeah. I’ve had this one underneath my feet for years. Just can’t get rid of him. Either of them. Serves me right. I never should have started doing play dates with his mother.”

            “Oh right, she was a doctor,” said Derek. “You must have known each other from the hospital, right?”

            “How do you know that?” Stiles asked. He looked a little freaked out and it took Derek a moment to appreciate the fact that a complete stranger knowing your mom’s profession was likely to creep out most people.

            “It was in Isaac’s file. The school keeps a record of his, um, history and I thought it might be an idea to give it a read through. Must have stuck in my mind.”

            “You read that, huh,” said Stiles, staring at Derek with an amused expression. Melissa was giving Stiles a questioning look, so he stood up straight and cleared his throat.  “Well, you are the history teacher. You probably couldn’t resist learning a little more history.”

            Derek laughed weakly but he could feel the air diffuse around them when Isaac rounded the door from the hospital room. Bolting up straight, Derek felt guilty, like he’d been caught talking about someone behind their back but Isaac baulked at the sight of the three of them together. He looked at Derek with suspicion. Derek was familiar with the look. Teachers were not supposed to exist outside of school walls, much less fraternise with members of your family. He got the same look when he was out shopping and ran into a student who suddenly realised that yes, teachers are actually people too.

            “Hello Mr. Hale,” he said cautiously, as if testing that Derek was actually real.

            “Isaac. I’ll leave you guys to it,” said Derek.

            “I should get back to work too,” said Melissa, checking her watch and dashing off with a quick kiss to both Isaac and Stiles. 

            “Thanks for the coffee,” Stiles called after Derek as he headed out the door.

            “It was my fault you lost the first one,” said Derek. “Just repaying what’s due. Oh and it’s nice to see you managed to hand your essay in on time for once Isaac. Good job.”

            Stiles looked over his shoulder at his brother and pulled a face asking what was going on but Isaac turned away from them both and slumped into the chair besides the Sheriff. Derek bade them farewell and left. Through the door he just caught the last catches of the boys’ voices through the door.

            “What the fuck was he doing here?”

            “What, Mr Hale? Same thing as us. And language!” Stiles added trying to use a parent voice.

            “Stiles, you taught me to swear. That parental battle is lost to you.”

            “Damn, you’re right,” said Stiles. “Fuck.”

 

*****

 

            “Dammit!” said Harris, slamming his cards down on the table. “I fold.”

            Marin cheered in triumph and scooped her winnings closer to her. She’d been bluffing, Derek could tell, but she’d always been good at making the best out of a bad hand. That was Derek’s gift when it came to poker night. He could read his fellow players like a text book. Unfortunately when it came to bluffing himself a blind man could read him and words like ‘strategy’ were not ones that he was particularly familiar with so he never came out of the game particularly well. 

            “I think I might start making a separate pile just for the money I win off of you, Harris,” said Marin preening.

            “Don’t be a sore loser,” said Jennifer.

            The chemist grumbled and took a drink from his beer, slamming it back down on the table in anger.

            “Coaster!” yelled Bobby, throwing one at Harris’s head.

            It was strange how precious Bobby was about his furniture. It wasn’t particularly good quality but woe be to the man who put his feet up on Bobby Finnstock’s couch or put a water ring on his card table. The first time Derek had come into Bobby’s house he’d been expecting to find an array of sports memorabilia and alpha male paraphernalia, the definition of bachelor pad. Instead he’d found a tasteful, if somewhat shabby, home. There was something even resembling a colour scheme going on.

            Marin dealt the next hand. Derek was dealt two pair from the off but the second he knew he had a good hand, everyone else read it off his face and folded. He’d never worked out what it was that made him such a bad bluffer. He thought he kept his face perfectly stoic but there must have been something in his eyes or the flair of his nostrils because it happened every damn time.

            “I never asked, how did your date go?” Jennifer asked Bobby as they dealt out another hand.

            “Eh,” he said, looking distinctly unimpressed. “It wasn’t exactly bad but it was not what any sane person could call good either.”

            “You’re setting your standards too high,” said Harris.

            “Oh really? And where should I set my standards? Please. Enlighten me. What should be my minimum requirements when looking for the future Mrs. Finnstock?”

            “A pulse?” said Harris.

            “Now, now,” said Marin, “don’t set the bar too high for him.”

            “Leave the guy alone,” said Jen trying to hide her own smile.

            “If the man is going to dish it out, he better learn to take it,” said Marin.

            “Why do I choose to spend my time with you people?” Bobby asked.

            “Because you have no other friends,” said Derek.

            “Hey, pot? You’ve got a phone call from kettle,” Bobby retorted. “Apparently you’re both kitchen ware and you should shut the hell up.”

            Jen gave Bobby a rub on the shoulder that was, quite frankly, rather pathetic.

            “Is it so bad to just want someone to call me cupcake?” he lamented.

            “Cupcake?” said Jen as if trying it out but somehow not able to quite make it work with reference to the Coach.

            “Or any confectionary based term of endearment of her choice,” said Bobby. He looked around the table for someone else to target the blame on and pointed at Harris. “At least I’m not dating eighteen year old blonde bimbos.”

            “Twenty one!” Harris asserted without looking over the top of his cards. “She was twenty one.”

            “Don’t even try it, Bob- Muffin,” said Jennifer. “You won’t get a rise out of him.”

            “Well I can’t mock either of you,” said Bobby pointing at the two women. “You’re both well grounded, rational people in relationships.”

            “Tell that to my therapist,” said Jen.

            “At least you _have_ relationships. I can’t make fun of you two without making myself depressed,” said Coach. “I need someone I can bully, someone whose love life is even more pathetic than mine.

            Derek could hear their eyes turn to him. There was a silence, an absence in conversation that screamed louder than any shout.

            “What?” he said without looking up.

            “You going to join in the conversation?” asked Bobby.

            “No.”   

            “Am I allowed to ask a question?” asked Bobby.

            “No,” said Derek.

            “Well, I’m going to ask anyway. I know that you like women because there was Kate and everything.”

            “Yes,” said Derek, short and clipped so that Bobby would get whatever horror he had in store over and done with.

            “But you usually go trawling for guys down at Jungle.”

            “Yes,” said Derek.

            “Well… did Kate, like, break you for women? Scared to go back in the water?”

            Derek closed his eyes tightly. Only Bobby, Bobby Finnstock of Beacon Hills, could turn the deepest tragedy of Derek’s life into a Jaws reference.

            “No. The fact that Kate was a woman has no relevance to my current relationship status. It was her as a person that ruined my life. And it’s called being bi-sexual, Bobby. I’m sure you are at least familiar with the principal.”

            In truth, Derek never really saw himself as ‘bisexual’. It was more apathy. As long as he was getting what he needed, it didn’t really matter who was on the other end. These days sex was increasingly becoming glorified masturbation.

            “Yeah, okay, I get that. But I’ve never even heard of you going on a date with a woman,” said Bobby.

            “We dated for like three months,” said Jen, avoiding looking at Derek while she said it.

            It was true. Jen had been Derek’s only attempt at a real relationship since Kate. It had been fun but there was no spark there. They were better as friends than they ever would have been as a couple, so decided to keep it that way.

            “That doesn’t count,” Bobby retorted. “You’re not a woman. You’re a friend. That’s completely different.”

            “You can be positively primeval sometimes, Bobby,” said Marin.

            “Men are easier,” said Derek, trying to take the heat away from Jen. “If you’re just looking for something quick and easy, no strings sex, it’s easier to find that with a guy. Not that guys can’t get just as clingy, but generally we’re both after the same thing.”

            “I take it back,” said Marin. “You are the primeval one Derek.”

            “So, Derek,” said Jen, levelling him that disarming smile that had attracted him when they’d first met. “Anyone more permanent on the horizon for you?”

            Stiles face flashed into his mind. He was smiling as they walked down the corridor with coffee in their hands and for a second all the care and worry washed away from his face.

            “No,” he said.                            

            “Liar,” said Morrell. “You so need to work on your poker face. So who is he/she?”

            “There isn’t anyone. Not really.”

            “Not really?” said Jen. “That means there is, sort of.”

            “Spill it Hale,” said Harris, more concerned with tormenting Derek than trying to find out about his love life. He prodded Finnstock next to him. “Sweetcakes here wants to know too.”

            “Fine!” said Derek. “I met them the other night…”

            “The other night? It’s a parent, isn’t it?” said Jen. She could be too damn smart sometimes. “I bet it is. You were flirting with one of the single parents. They were a _single_ parent, I hope?”

            Derek hesitated.

            “Yeah, we met at Parent-Teacher night,” said Derek at last. He saw Marin narrow her eyes at him. She was sharp. She would have noticed how he neatly side stepped saying ‘parent’ and wouldn’t have forgotten his questions about Isaac Lahey.

            “Careful Derek,” she said calmly. “Getting involved with a student’s family member can be complicated. Especially for the kid in the middle.”

            “It’s not like anything is going to happen,” said Derek. “I just noticed the guy was hot is all. I’m not about to have a one night stand with a parent just because he’s kind of hot.”

            “Why the hell not?” asked Bobby. “Risk not worth the reward?”

            “He doesn’t even like me like that,” said Derek. “I don’t even like him like that! I just noticed his lips were kind of pretty and now I’ll probably never see him again. Can we drop it?”

            “Oh look, we’ve upset him now,” said Harris, joyful. “Tell us about those lips Derek. Feel free to use whatever poetic simile you want to. It’ll make Jen happy.”

            “I thought we were playing poker,” said Derek slamming his hands down on the table and turned to Bobby. “Come on Pumpkin, it’s your turn to deal! The sooner we let Marin take all our money the sooner we can all go home and I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

            As Bobby dealt, Derek thought about it in the privacy of his own head. Could he even call it a _love_ life? There had been no aspect of love to any of his sexual encounters in years. Even with Jen it had never been about love. He’d not been ready for love then he’d realised. He doubted he ever would be again.

            He pondered this until Bobby threw a coaster at his head, yelling it was Derek’s turn to bet.

 

*****

 

            “I’ll fucking kill you!”

            Derek didn’t wait to hear anymore. He just ran down the corridor, pushing students out of his way. By the time he reached the boys’ locker room the crowd was already gathering. Since becoming a teacher he’d developed a sixth sense when it came to students getting into trouble. The second he’d heard the shout he’d known he was going to find Jackson Whittemore and Isaac Lahey at each other’s throats. Coach Finnstock was diving into the fray to break them up but two teenage boys in full fury were stronger than one middle aged man any day. Derek stepped forward to help pull them apart, a few of the other lacrosse players joining in now that a teacher was leading the way. Isaac flailed as Derek moved in to grab him, struggling to get at Jackson. An elbow collided with Derek’s stomach and made him fall backwards. He heard a crash and saw his phone go skittering across the floor.

            “Don’t you fucking say that, you fucking bastard!” Isaac screamed.

            Derek regained his balance and pulled Isaac away by the waist while Danny had his arm out across Jackson’s chest, stopping his friend from rushing at Isaac now that teachers were in the room. The humid air pressed in on them all making it feel like the tension was a palpable presence in the air. Jackson sniffed haughtily, wiping away a trickle of blood that was leaking artfully out of his nose. 

            “If you’ve broken my nose I’m going to make you pay for the plastic surgery,” said Jackson before pulling a mock shocked face. “Oops, sorry. Your broke ass family wouldn’t be able to pay. If you can call your dipshit adopted brother family.”

            There was a part of Derek that wanted to let Lahey go when he surged forward to tear into Jackson. If it wouldn’t lose him his job he would have punched Jackson himself, making sure that he broke his nose as messily as possible. Instead he held onto Isaac tighter.

            “Jackson. Isaac. Put some damn clothes on. We’re all going on a nice trip to the principal’s office and I don’t want him to get the wrong idea what this all about,” said Finnstock.

            “What! He started it,” said Isaac pointing at his aggravator. 

            “I don’t care who started it,” said the coach, “or why. We’re going to Principal and you can throw around who started what and why when your parents get here.”

            “You mean when _my_ parents get here. Lahey’s not got any of them left.”

            “Whittemore, you’re already looking at suspension,” Derek warned. “Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

            Jackson looked at Derek with scorn. He couldn’t say anything but the distain he felt towards Derek was obvious. He was just a school teacher, beneath the great Whittemore name. There would be no suspension, not when Mr Whittemore Esquire was on the case. At most Jackson would get a slap on the wrist and a few days’ worth of detention.

            “Don’t be such a douchebag, man,” said Danny. 

            Derek would have been proud of Danny for sticking up for Isaac, except that he hadn’t been. He was trying to stop Jackson from making himself look bad. It didn’t matter that he was a horrible human being who used someone’s person tragedies as ammunition. Jackson was rich, handsome and popular. Of course it was right for him to pick on the poor kids from broken homes. That was the natural order of things. It made Derek sick.

            Jackson walked back towards his lockers, flanked by his cronies who kept shooting concerned looks back at Isaac. At least they had the decency to feel bad for the kid.

            Vernon Boyd walked up, handing Derek back his dropped phone before grabbing Isaac’s clothes from next to Jackson. Isaac looked a little surprised at the gesture, but thanked him anyway. Boyd was a good student but he’d always been a bit of a loner. 

            Derek walked over to Coach as they surveyed the changing room.

            “What started it this time?” he asked quietly.

            “How should I know,” Finnstock said. “Jackson sneezed too loudly. Isaac blinked in an insolent manner. Does anything need to start those two off?”

            The two boys dressed quickly and obediently walked back to await their punishment. Jackson’s lip was beginning to swell up and he kept prodding at it.

            “You’ve got a nice swing Lahey,” Jackson mocked. “Your Dad teach you to punch like that?”

            Derek caught Isaac’s arm before he could strike but he wasn’t moving to attack Jackson. Instead he shrugged Derek off.

            “I’ll take them,” said Derek. Bobby just waved at him and nodded.

            The three of them walked together in silence to the Principals office, Derek a half step behind to keep an eye on the students. He left them in the hall while he explained the situation to the principal.

            “God damn it,” said the Principal. “This again? What am I supposed to do? If I suspend either of them I’m going to look bad. Jackson’s Dad would probably take it to the mayor or something ridiculous and could you imagine what would happen if we suspended the son of a man who got shot in the head whilst protecting his community?”

            Derek looked over his shoulder to where Isaac was sitting in the corridor, picking at the chair with his fingernails while Jackson checked his flashy phone, confident that nothing that bad would come of this.

            “Give Isaac to me,” Derek said. “Give him as much detention as you want, every night for the rest of the semester but I’ll take him for it.”

            “Oh?” said the Principal surprised. “You want to give a student a one-on-one face time? Willingly? That’s not very like you Derek.”

            Derek thought about it. It was true. Usually the only reason he wanted his students to pass was to keep his job and not have to see their faces for another year but this kid… Their paths had crossed too much of later for him not to become involved. Or rather Derek and Isaac’s brother had crossed paths too often, he thought remembering that mischievous smile. But this wasn’t about Stiles. This was about Isaac.

            “My uncle is their neighbour,” he said. “Call it a vested interested.”

            “Okay. I’ll call the parents in. But if it happens again, they are both out of here.”

            Derek nodded and went outside to send the kids in. He could hear the principal talking calmly with the two of them while they proceeded to start yelling at each other and wondered whether he should go back in as a body guard but he had a class to teach. He didn’t really have a clue what he was going to do with Isaac in their new sessions. It had been a spur of the moment thing he’d said before he’d thought about it.

            When his family had died he’d had Laura to stop him from going on the self-destructive streak Isaac was so keen on taking. Even though he had his brother, Stiles had his own worries to deal with. If Derek could help take the load off he would. If it meant that Stiles might end up smiling a little more often, well then, that was just a bonus.

            

*****

 

            “Mother fucking stupid goddamn phone,” said Derek.

            The stupid thing had been on the fritz ever since the fight at school a few days earlier. He’d thought it was okay at first. The screen wasn’t broken and everything seemed to be working fine but now it kept closing down apps for no apparent reason or not reading his touch on the screen. It was driving him crazy. Even now, standing in line at the phone store, he was one more unasked for shutdown away from throwing the damn thing against the wall.

            He was so engrossed in his fiddling that he didn’t notice the store clerk sidle up beside him until 

            “Can I help you Mr. Hale?”

            Derek snapped the phone to his chest, about to yell at the clerk before he recognised him.

            “Stiles? Hi. Wait, you work here?”

            “Sure do!” he said pointing to the logo on his shirt.

            It was a green one, meaning he was one of the guys who actually knew what he was doing, rather than just someone who could press the right buttons on the register. 

            “I thought it was a coffee machine explosion last time. They sell those here?”

            “Nope. I was at the coffee shop that day. I work there four days a week. This is a weekend gig.”

            “You have two jobs?” Derek asked.

            “Three actually,” said Stiles, “but I’m not going to tell you where the third one is. You’ll just have to come find me yourself.”

            No wonder his and Isaac’s relationship was so strained if he had to work three jobs just to keep a roof over their heads. That alone would have made Derek crack after a fortnight, let alone trying to raise an unruly teenager on top. It was a miracle Stiles hadn’t had a complete nervous breakdown by now but instead he just smiled and his face transformed as it always did. Yeah. This guy was pretty damn hot. Derek wasn’t going to deny that.

            “I’ll keep an eye out,” said Derek.

            “So, what can I do for you, my new favourite customer?”

            Derek held out his phone.

            “It’s not working.”

            “I take it back,” said Stiles taking the phone. “You are just like every other useless customer that comes in here. Care to elaborate?”

            Derek shook his head and explained the faults, carefully sidestepping how it got broken in the first place. The kid was stressed enough without having to feel guilty about his brother breaking some guy’s phone.

            “I can fix that, easy. Come into my kingdom,” he said and beckoned Derek towards the Tech Desk in the corner. He vaulted over the desk and logged into the computer.

            “Right, let’s get your details and then we’ll be away. Name, Derek Hale,” Stiles said aloud as he typed, pausing to look up at Derek with a frown. “I’ve not been in high school for years but it’s still weird to me that teachers have first names. I always kind of assumed they made you give it up when you sign up to be a teacher.”

            “Yeah. There’s a ceremony when you graduate teacher training,” said Derek in a dead pan voice. “You have to relinquish your first name and swear to never again try to have a social life.”

            Stiles smiled again.

            “Derek Hale,” Stiles said as he typed it in. “Phone number?”

            Derek recited it off while Stiles typed and tried not to look at the way Stiles’ fingers flexed as they moved across the keys.

            “Wow, you live there!” Stiles said looking down Derek’s profile. “I didn’t know history teachers got paid that well.”

            He raised his eye brows at Derek and gave him a falsely flirtatious smile and Derek suddenly wished that it was a real one. 

            “They don’t,” said Derek. “I inherited it.

            “Ah,” said Stiles leaning back but questioned no further. People always questioned when he said that. For the first time ever, Derek wished that Stiles _would_ ask.

            Stiles turned back to the screen and his fingers blurred in activity once more.

            “Your warranty on this just expired but, would you look at that! It seems to have been magically extended for another six months. How did that happen?”

            Derek craned his neck around to take a look. 

            “Seriously? Couldn’t you get in trouble for that?”

            “Fired probably.” Stiles didn’t sound like he cared that much. He probably hated this job and would quit in a second if he didn’t need the cash so badly. 

            “Risking your job for your brother’s history teacher?”

            Stiles looked up quickly while he typed, trying to steal a glance without staring but Derek noticed all the same.

            “Isaac told me that you’re taking him for detention. Well, actually he bitches about it constantly. How you’re ruining his life by making him write essays for an hour every day but I see what you’re trying to do. Thanks. Not every guy would do that.”

            Derek looked at Stiles’ eyes as they scanned over the screen. Stiles was very pointedly not looking up and not looking at Derek. For some reason that made Derek happy.

            “Well it is kind of my job,” said Derek. “Looks good to the school board, taking an interest in the personal development of students in my class. I’ll be looking for promotion in a year or so.”

            “Yeah, I suppose,” said Stiles, sounding unconvinced by Derek’s detachment. Derek cursed his stupid lack of a poker face. “Still. Thanks.”

            Stiles grabbed a cable from somewhere and hooked up the phone to the computer. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck before ceremoniously laying his fingers on the keys.

            “Stand back and watch. You are about to see something special.”

            “I am?”

            “No not really. I’m just really good at this.”

            Stiles began to type and click at lightning speed, immediately pin pointing the problem and fixing it. A few minutes later he stepped back and pulled a pose with a loud ‘Tadah!’.

            “Fixed it?” asked Derek.

            “I’m just installing the patch now. It’ll be good to go in a minute.”

            Stiles leaned forward on the desk and scrunched his fingers into his hair.

            “So,” he said slowly. “We just keep running into each other don’t we?”

            “Don’t we just. Probably because I’m actually getting out of the house rather than drowning in essays,” said Derek.

            “If you didn’t set so many essays, you wouldn’t have to grade so many.”

            “Are your brother and his friends paying you to say that?”

            “Oh no, you have unravelled my cunning plan,” Stiles said throwing his hands up in the air. “I couldn’t possibly be talking to my brother’s grumpy history teacher with no ulterior motive. I’ve been found out.”

            Derek couldn’t work out if this guy was actually trying to flirt with him or whether that was just Stiles. Was he like this with everyone? Was he even into dudes? Derek wasn’t about to put himself on the line when he didn’t even know that. Perhaps he could hang around in the store for a bit afterwards, see how he was with the other customers and… okay. Stop now Derek. Shit like that is going to make people think you’re some kind of creepy stalker.

            Stiles eyebrows twitched and Derek realised he’d been staring without saying anything for just those few seconds too long.

            “Umm, I…”

            Beside them, Derek’s phone beeped, letting them know it was done doing whatever it was supposed to be doing. Stiles thumbed through the screens, seeming to approve that whatever he’d done had worked. He stood up straight and started typing something into the phone. He held it out at arm’s length and winked at the screen, pointing at it cheesily while he took a photo, then handed it back to Derek.

            “I’ve programmed my number in there for you,” said Stiles. “It’s a common fault in that model so it might bug out again if it gets knocked. If it does don’t bother coming all the way down here, just gimme a call and I’ll come over and, uh…” Stiles eyes did a quick up and down of Derek’s body, “sort you out.”

            Okay, yeah. Not just friendly banter. This was most definite flirting. Derek tried to supress his massive grin, knowing that he was failing.

            “So if my phone stops working I should call the number that you have just programmed into my phone. The one that will not be working.”

            Stiles shrugged.

            “I didn’t say it was a perfect plan. Don’t go poking holes in my logic.”

            Derek looked down at the picture on his screen before pocketing it and leaning up from the desk. Stiles smiled at him brightly. 

            “That everything?” Derek asked.

            “For now,” said Stiles.

            “I’ll see you around,” said Derek.

            He turned and started to walk away. It was a calculated move. Derek knew how fantastic his ass looked in the jeans he was wearing.

            “You better,” he heard Stiles whisper.

 

*****

 

            The next Tuesday Isaac sat at Derek’s desk in the empty classroom, slumped back in his chair as Derek handed him back his last history assignment. It was already covered in red pen as Derek took it apart and tried to show Isaac how he could structure it properly, to form a flow of thought rather than random points as they occurred to him. Isaac nodded periodically and his eyes were pointed at the paper but it was obvious he wasn’t listening.

            “What did I just say Isaac?” Derek asked eventually.

            “I don’t care,” said Isaac.

            Derek slammed his pen into the desk in frustration but refused to yell. Isaac visibly flinched.

            “I am trying to help you here, Isaac,” he said. “I am sitting here, telling you explicitly what you need to do and you are not listening. Do you want to flunk history and get held back a year? Because that’s what’s going to happen.”

            Isaac looked a little shaken by Derek’s sudden outburst but he wasn’t going to let it show in any big way. 

            “I could just drop out-”

            “Just don’t Isaac,” he said holding up his hand. “You’re welcome to quit but if you do it will be the single dumbest move you have ever made in your life. Are you an idiot? No. You’re a smart kid somewhere, underneath all the stupid so are you going to start paying attention or am I just wasting both our time?”

            Isaac shifted uneasily in his seat then slumped forward onto the desk and pulled his essay towards him lazily. Yelling had been a gamble but Derek would have been too pissed off to care if it hadn’t worked.

            “So what would you do different if you could do this again?” asked Derek.

            “I dunno,” said Isaac.

            “Let’s start by looking at the question. Read it out.”

            “ _What role did the American media play in the Vietnam War,_ ” said Isaac.

            “Okay. So first thing you do is...”

            “Work out what the question is asking,” Isaac finished. So he had at least been listening to that.

            “What are the important things here? The key terms?”

            “I don’t know. American media and the Vietnam war.” said Isaac.

            “Good but it’s asking about the _role_ the media played. What does it mean by role?”

            “What did the media do?” Isaac asked.

            “In part but that’s not the whole question. It’s not enough to say what they did, it’s how that played in to the way that the war was fought.” Isaac pulled a confused face and stared at Derek strangely. “In your essay you just talk about how the media reported on the war and the protests surrounding it. What I was looking for was how did those reports fuel the protests? How did the path of the war change because of the way the American public viewed it? Until Vietnam we had always supported the government when there was a war, look at the propaganda of the World War 2. It was all about pulling together, being one, support the troops. But in Vietnam there was this movement that was actively trying to stop the war, that thought it was unjust and corrupt and that all American soldiers were just out there to kill babies and shoot Viet Cong. It was the first time that the military had to fight their own people as well as the enemy. The battle lines were drawn on TV and radio back in the States just as much as they were in the jungles of Vietnam.”

            Isaac looked at the sheet of paper in front of him. He was trying to look like he didn’t care but Derek could see the spark of interest there. It was an interesting and twisted topic, one that Derek had loved to discuss in depth back in college. He brought it out every year hoping to inspire some debate amongst the apathetic students but every year his students never failed to disappoint him.

            “So, it’s kind of like the war in Afghanistan now? How a lot of people think we should never have been there in the first place.” Isaac asked carefully.

            “Exactly,” Derek said slamming his hand down on the table.

            Isaac’s fingers scrapped along the table slowly before touching to his chest. There was a chain hanging around his neck, disappearing down his shirt. Dog tags. It was then Derek remembered Isaac’s brother. 

            “I’m sorry, I for-”

            “So basically the question is about how can people change conflicts?” he cut across Derek.

            Derek nodded.

            “That’s one way to answer the question, as long as you base it on the Vietnam conflict. You can draw parallels between then and now if it fits with your argument. It’ll make whoever’s grading your paper happy. Anything that’s not the same crap that every other kid in your class has pulled of Wikipedia makes me happy.”

            Isaac smiled for a second before remembering he was supposed to be surly.

            “We’ve covered the question,” said Derek, “now we need to get the answer. How are you going to structure it?”

            Slowly bit by bit they worked their way through the structure of the essay, taking the information that Isaac had put in his first essay and working it into something that resembled a cogent discussion. Derek watched as Isaac wrote down the points they came up with. His handwriting was the customary teenage boy chicken scratch but Derek noticed Isaac squinting at the text book in front of him, running his finger along the words as he read.

            “Isaac, do you wear glasses?” Derek asked.

            It wasn’t uncommon for kids who really should be wearing glasses to refuse to wear them because they weren’t fashionable. The rise of ‘geek chic’ had helped alleviate the problem but he still saw countless students hurting their eyes rather than putting on a pair of glasses.

            “Nah,” said Isaac. “I went to the opticians a few months ago because John noticed I was squinting when I read but they said there was nothing wrong.”

            He was looking sheepish, as he rolled the pen between his fingers. Derek looked back down at his notes more carefully. It seemed like every other word had been crossed out and rewritten, the sentences were jumbled messes of words that ran on for line after line and repeated the same idea over and over again. When they’d been talking Isaac’s ideas had come out fine. He’d known what he was talking about and begun to form a coherent argument. What was written on the page bore no resemblance to that.

            “Isaac, do have trouble reading sometimes?”

            “I’m not dumb, I can read,” Isaac snapped pulling his notes closer to him.

            “I’m not saying you can’t it’s just… My sister Laura had trouble reading. The words got mixed up on the page sometimes, or she just couldn’t make the sentence make sense no matter how many times she read it. It just looked like a jumble of words.”

            Isaac looked up at him, like what Derek was saying was familiar to him.

            “She did?”

            “Yeah, she was dyslexic. My uncle was too before he… it’s common is what I’m trying to say.”

            “And you think I have it?” Isaac asked, wary but not aggressive.

            “You ever been tested?” Isaac shook his head. It wasn’t completely unsurprising that no one had picked up on Isaac’s problem. With computers and spell checkers it was getting increasingly hard to spot kids who were struggling, and with his turbulent home life it could have easily gone unnoticed by his parents and guardians. “How about I book an appointment with the study advisor? They can give you the tests and if it is dyslexia then they can teach you how to cope with it.”

            “So it’s curable then?”

            “Not curable. Manageable. You just have to learn what you do and how to catch yourself when you do it.”

            Isaac looked down at the page in front of him. He shrugged non-committedly but Derek could see that it was a front.

            “Sure. Whatever.”

            Derek glanced down at his watch.

            “Okay, I gotta let you go now- Whoa there buddy,” he said pushing Isaac back down gently as stood to get up. “You’ve done some good work here today. You hand me the essay we just worked out by the end of the week and I’ll put the grade of that one down in your record. I’m not gonna make you but it could mean the difference between passing this year and having to repeat.”

            Isaac threw his bag back over his shoulder and sniffed in response.

            “Sure. Can I go now?”

            Derek nodded and Isaac bounded off towards the doorway. He hesitated before angling his head back slightly.

            “Thanks,” he said quickly before running off down the hallway.

            Well, it wasn’t much, thought Derek, but it was a start.

            

*****

 

            Derek was going to the movies on a Thursday night. By himself. That was where his life had taken him. This was the height of his social life.

            He wanted to see the new biopic on Lincoln, mainly so he could get angry at all the inaccuracies and blatant bias that was bound to run rife through it so he couldn’t take Finnstock or Harris. Finnstock was all about the mindless action and violence with the chance of maybe seeing some boob. Harris was willing to see anything as long as the youngest person in the film was at least in their twenties but then Derek would have to put up with his constant whinging about how long/boring/monochrome the movie was. Marian hated movies like this and despite the fact that he and Jennifer were still friends, going to the movies as just the two of them was a little too close to a date to be comfortable.

            In a brief moment of madness Derek had nearly called Stiles to ask him if he wanted to come see it. He could have leaned over and made witty comments about all the mistakes and show Stiles how smart he was, because that’s what really turns a guy on, Derek. An anal retentive who likes to watch history movies to find the mistakes. Way to come across as sexy and alluring. He’d spent a bit longer than was necessary staring at Stiles’ caller ID while he went back and forth over the idea before finally settling on ‘no’.

            That just left him. He didn’t mind. He’d gone to see movies like this on his own all the time back in school and for many of the same reasons. Occasionally he’d manage to drag Laura along, or one of his parents, though going to the movies with one of your parents was probably just as bad, socially speaking, as going by yourself. It was just sitting in a room by yourself for two, or in this case three and half, hours not talking to anyone. Derek could do that fine on his own.

            He was standing in line to get popcorn when he heard someone calling his name. He turned and who should be walking up to him but the very man he’d nearly asked to come watch the movie with him, Stiles.

            “We meet again, Mr. History Man. Let me guess, Lincoln?”

            Derek held up his ticket like he was guilty of something.

            “Got it in one,” he said. Derek looked back up to the list of films on the board. “Let me guess… The crappy romantic comedy?”

            “No actually, it’s the black and white French film. I love me some subtitles and pretentious shot framing.”

            They laughed before Derek turned back to the board.

            “I’m guessing it’s really the one with the aliens.”

            “And explosions,” said Stiles. “Don’t forget the explosions, very important in a movie. It’s not a real movie unless there is at least one explosion.”

            “Good rule. Mine’s set during the middle of a war so here’s to hoping,” said Derek, crossing his fingers.

            Stiles cast a look around. “So who you here with? Friend, girlfriend, boyfriend, cousin, secret love child you’re trying to brainwash into loving history?”

            Derek smiled, not at the lovechild comment but at the casual way that Stiles was trying to suss out Derek’s current relationship status and how he dropped his voice on ‘boyfriend’ to make it less obvious.

            “Just me,” he said.

            “Seriously?” Stiles baulked. “You’re going to the movies by yourself.”

            “I’m not going to drag some guy to watch an overly long love song to Abraham Lincoln if I want to impress them am I?” No matter how long it might have taken me to come to that conclusion, Derek added in his head. Looking at Stiles stood beside him now, dressed in shirt that hugged his body so very nicely, Derek wasn’t entirely sure he’d made the right decision. He jerked his eyes up, realising that he was staring. “If I had a guy. Which I don’t.”

            Stiles stared at him out the corner of his eye and looked like he was about to ask something.

            “Stiles, come on!” shouted someone on the other side of the hall. “I don’t want to miss the previews.”

            Stiles whipped round and waved at someone on the other side of the complex.

            “Uh, I better, um… yeah… it was nice talking to you again,” said Stiles. He suddenly started looking very awkward as he backed away slowly. “Oh, I should warn you, Isaac is here with his friends. I’m kind of hiding from them too. His best friend Erica is a cute kid but she’s had this crush on me since forever and it’s beginning to get a little bit creepy. There's with some kid named Boyd that he’s started hanging out with so that’s good. I was beginning to think he’d forgotten how to do friends. Thanks for helping him out with school stuff, though he keeps asking me questions about Vietnam I don’t know the answers to so I just watched Full Metal Jacket with him. That’s about the limit of my knowledge.”

            “Good. It’s all context. You know-”

            “STILES!”

            “I’m coming, Scott! God!” Stiles turned back to Derek. “I best get back to- bye.”

            He walked off before Derek had the chance to return the farewell. He watched as Stiles waved his hands at his friend, before putting his arm around his shoulder and walking towards the theatre. The guy looked back at Derek, staring at him judgementally. He was a handsome guy, built too. Not someone who would have made Derek stop and stare but handsome enough for a double take. 

            Oh shit. Scott. Son of Melissa. The kid who Stiles had known since for ever. His… Scott. That’s why Stiles was wearing a shirt that made him look that good. He was on a date. Judging by how comfortable they were with each other it wasn’t the first one either. That wasn’t Stiles friend. That was Stiles _boy_ friend. Yup. Derek had read the entire situation completely wrong. Stiles had a boyfriend and he’d just been being friendly with his brother’s history teacher. Well played Hale, well played. Just as well he hadn’t called to ask him out on a date.

            But what about that thing with the number in the phone shop? There had been definite innuendo flying back and forth then. Derek hadn’t imagined that. Had he? No. He hadn’t. So Stiles was interested. But he had a boyfriend. Was he wrong about that? Were they just friends? No. Derek watched them as they stood in line. They were far too in sync to just be friends. So was there trouble in paradise? Was Stiles looking to play away? No, Derek was not that guy. No matter how hot the guy may be, Derek was not the kind of person who would knowingly let someone cheat on their boyfriend with him. Especially not when that person was the guardian of one of his damn students!

            “Sir?” the teller called, urging Derek forward. He ordered his snacks for the film, determined to keep his mind off of Stiles for the rest of the evening. He should be happy for the guy. Stiles deserved someone special in his life. Sure, he’d thought about asking Stiles out but he wasn’t besotted with the guy or anything. He’d thought about it, it hadn’t panned out, now he was going to forget about it and enjoy the movie.

            Derek failed thoroughly on all fronts.

 

*****

 

            “My god, is the team actually winning?” Derek asked as he surveyed the game in front of them.

            “Shut up Hale,” said Bobby, before yelling out at the pitch. “Pick up the ball Greenburg! For the love of God let… Dammit! Now they have possession.”

            Derek laughed at his friend as he screeched at the poor kid. 

            “Goddamn it!” Coach hissed pacing away from the bench. “This wouldn’t be happening if I hadn’t had to bench my two best players.”

            Bobby cast an irritated glance across to where Jackson and Isaac were sitting on opposite ends of the bench, trying to pretend that they weren’t stuck there. Even if they hadn’t been benched after the fight, Isaac would have been on probation for his grades. The only reason he was even allowed to train with the team was because it seemed to give him some sort of discipline.

            For the last two weeks following the fight, Derek had been keeping half an eye on Jackson. It seemed that Jackson’s punishment had hit him harder than expected. He’d been stripped of his captaincy and dumped by his girlfriend, the reigning queen of Beacon Hills Lydia Martin. Word in the staff room was that Jackson had attempted to take out his frustration on her and she’d refused to take it. Lydia only spent her time on winners.

            “I thought the team was more than just one player?” said Derek, quoting Bobby back at himself from Derek’s own days on the Beacon Hills High School team.

            Bobby shot him a look like such saccharine speech physically harmed him. 

            “Just hurry up and make Lahey a decent student already so I can have him back. If I’ve got to lose Jackson at least let me have Isaac. The kids like a freaking cheetah.”

            “I’m trying,” said Derek quietly, stealing a glance at the kid, engrossed in the game he couldn’t play. The temperature was dropping as autumn began to give way to winter and Isaac was jiggling his legs to keep warm. It made him look nervous and lost on his own.

            “Go Danny!” Finnstock shouted as the student in question ran down the pitch and readied to score, but the goalie saved it raising a chorus of booing from the crowd.

            “Dammit!” said Bobby, pulling his hat off and throwing it on the ground. “I should be coaching college!”

            “Are you kidding? You’re way too soft on these guys. College kids would eat you alive.”

            “Too soft? Too soft? Oh I am going to make damn sure those kids know that when they are running an entire session of suicide runs it’s because you just said that.”

            Derek grinned at his friend as the half time whistle blew. The team was behind but only by a narrow margin. As they rushed back to the bench to rehydrate Derek returned to his seat with Jennifer in the stands.

            “Bobby trying to scream the team into being a more cohesive group?” Jennifer asked with scorn. 

            “You going to point out to him all the ways that doesn’t work?” Derek asked.

            “I would. Except for some reason despite what every study has shown, for him it does seem to work.”

            They laughed. Neither he nor Jennifer was a big one for ‘school spirit’ but Derek did enjoy watching a good sports game. Back in his day he’d been a good player himself and he still enjoyed throwing the ball around when he could find someone to play with who wouldn’t yell at him mercilessly if he so much as miss-stepped, like a certain Coach was want to do.

            ‘Pep talk’ done the team were taking a moment to relax. Isaac was congratulating Boyd on a good game, his eyes constantly darting to the crowd, searching for someone. Stiles. He wasn’t there, Derek had looked.

            Isaac’s face broke into a smile and he waved, running towards someone in the crowd. Derek felt his own spirits lift for a moment but they crashed right back down when he realised it wasn’t Stiles Isaac was running to. It was the guy he’d been with on Wednesday night, Scott. They embraced each other like brothers, Isaac talking at him excitedly. 

            So Scott was close to Isaac as well. That really put Stiles out of the picture. Derek had been toying all week with idea of saying ‘oh fuck it’ and calling Stiles, regardless of the fact he had a boyfriend. If Stiles wanted to play away that was his thing, not Derek’s. Derek would just be there, it was Stiles in the wrong. But now Isaac was involved. He really couldn’t justify doing anything that cut another person out of that boy’s life.

            “This seat taken?”

            Derek looked up to see Nurse McCall, Scott’s Mom, standing next to him.

            _Fuck._

He looked across at Merin’s seat that was now suddenly empty.

“I guess she went to the bathroom,” said Derek, his mouth suddenly dry.

            “I won’t be long. I’m sitting with Scott over the other side.”

            She settled down next to him and watched as her son and Isaac play fought, punching each other lightly. It was slightly unfair, seeing as Isaac was pretty padded up. 

            “I hear Isaac has been complaining about his extra curricular lessons with you non-stop,” she said lightly.

            “I’m a teacher. If a student hates me it means I’m doing my job right.”

            Melissa tilted his head in agreement. They both turned their attention to Isaac. Despite being benched he seemed to be in good spirits, especially as he messed around with Scott.

            “Thanks for taking an interest,” said Melissa. “They’re going through one hell of a time, both him and Stiles, but Stiles has to work so much that they’re never around for each other. They both need someone to lean on but neither can take to time to do it.”

            “It’s a couple of hours a week I’d spend grading crappy homework assignments. At least this way I get to feel like one of them is making progress,” said Derek.

            “It still means a lot. Isaac needs all the support he can get. Me and Scott try to help out where we can but I barely have time to raise my own son and Scott was never very good at school stuff. We had our fair share of troubles when he was Isaac’s age, but we managed.”

            “He and Isaac close?” Derek asked. He had the feeling that if things had been different he would have liked Scott. Nurse McCall had always been his favourite nurse. Right now, though, Derek felt like everything he was saying was a lie. If Melissa knew Derek had thought about asking Stiles out even after finding out he was dating her son, she’d probably slap him.

            “You know the story right, how Isaac got adopted?” asked Melissa. “When he first came to the Stilinski’s he was still pretty wary. Stiles’ was sixteen, had spent his whole life being the only child. There was a lot of conflict between the two of them. A lot. Stiles felt like Isaac was getting more than his fair share of attention, that he was stealing away his parents when really they were just trying to support this kid who’d been put through hell by his father. Scott’s dad was… less than a beneficial presence in our lives, so he could relate. They kinda bonded. I made sure he went round to hang out with Isaac as much as with Stiles. Problem was that that made Stiles thing that Isaac was trying to steal _Scott_ away as well. Anyway, long story short, they got over it but that friction’s still there in the background. They love each other but it’s hard for them. Especially now they’ve got no one else.”

            Derek looked at Scott again. So, he and Stiles had been together since high school. Derek’s longest relationship had lasted three months if you discounted Kate. Which he did. Whatever he’d had with Kate it hadn’t been a relationship.

            “It’s good he has someone. Isaac and Stiles. He didn’t have to. The fact Scott stuck around says a lot.”

            “Stiles is the one who really looks after him,” said Melissa, “and he really did not have to. No one expected him to do this, that’s just the kind of guy he is. Like when his Mom died. Did you know Stiles is like some crazy whizz kid when it comes to machines? He just looks at a broken laptop and it starts working again. He got into MIT, had a bunch of scholarships to colleges all over the country, good ones but he turned them all down when his Mom got sick. His Dad was depressed, they had massive hospital bills to pay so Stiles took some crappy job at Radio Shack to help keep a roof over their heads. Then when their life is finally together enough that he can start taking classes at the local community college his Dad gets shot and he has to drop his whole life again.”

            Derek stared at Melissa. Seriously. Was this family cursed?

            “I didn’t know. I didn’t know any of that.”

            “Of course you didn’t,” Melissa sighed. “Stiles doesn’t tell anyone that stuff. To him, it’s family. It’s what you do. When it comes to the people he loves he will do anything, literally anything, to keep them safe and happy. Work three jobs, quit school, hell he’d probably set himself on fire! It doesn’t even register with him to put himself first, that’s never even a thought in his head. He could have just let Isaac get taken back by the state, they nearly did, but then he’d end up in some care home or with a crappy foster family just in it for the money. Isaac _is_ Stiles’ brother. No matter how that happened they’ll always be brothers to Stiles.”

            Derek watched Isaac again. The kid was looking out at the stands. He saw Melissa and Derek sitting together and frowned but waved anyway before carrying on scanning the crowds.

            “Stiles supposed to be here?” Derek asked.

            “Yeah,” said Melissa, sounding annoyed. “I can’t reach him either. It’s probably the store making him work late again, they always do on weekends, but he’ll be here. Even if it kills him, he’ll be here.”

            “Stiles really is a great guy,” Derek said sadly, before remembering who he was sat there with.

            Melissa looked across at him and Derek knew that she knew exactly what he’d been thinking about Stiles. Shit! Derek geared himself up, ready to have a screaming match with this guy he’d just met in the middle of the stands

            “Yeah,” she said. “He is. And he deserves to be happy. And right now, that means whatever stability he can get. I love those boys nearly as much as I love my own. They don’t need their life anymore shaken up than it already is.”

            Derek sunk his head in submission. He’d been caught out and knew he was in the wrong.

            At that moment Jennifer came back from the bathroom and Melissa stood to give her back her seat but not before giving the other woman a long scouring look. Probably trying to determine what part she played in this equation. Derek had to suppress the urge to shout about how Jen wasn’t his girlfriend anymore, but thought that probably wasn’t terribly tactful.

            “Remember what I said Derek. I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

            Derek waved a hand quickly without making eye contact with the other her. He just watched Melissa’s back as she walked down the stairs, all the way to the other set of stands.

            Derek was so fucked. So absolutely, utterly fucked.

            He watched the second half in a daze. He stood up when everyone else screamed,  answered whenever Jennifer talked to him, went ‘ooooh’ when everyone else did and generally took all of his cues on how he should act from the crowd because the only attention he was paying to the game was to occasionally glance down at Isaac while thinking about his brother.

            They must have won because there was a lot of jumping and shouting when the final whistle blew. Derek tried to leave as soon as he could but there were too many people clinging to him in happiness and joy. Instead he let his attention wander.

            It wandered to Stiles, stood at the edge of the pitch walking up to Isaac with a big smile but Isaac was determined to be angry. He threw his stick down on the floor and shouted something at Stiles and Derek watched as the man visibly deflated before him. Stiles was gesticulating wildly, trying to explain but even from here Derek could tell that Isaac didn’t want to hear. Derek remembered feeling like that. When you didn’t want to be calmed down or hear explanations, when you just wanted to be allowed to be angry. Isaac barged past Stiles and ran off into the darkness.

            Stiles took a few steps to follow, shouting after him words Derek couldn’t hear but didn’t run after him. He looked lost, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Scott ran up and said something to him before running after Isaac. Stiles didn’t look comforted by Scott’s words. Instead he raised his hand to his face, pressing his knuckles into his mouth. Frustrated maybe, he should be the one running after Isaac, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what to do, but Scott did.

            Nurse McCall approached Stiles and he let himself get wrapped up in a hug. It was a strange feeling, to realise that he’d been on the cusp of Stiles’ life for so long and not even known. Stiles moved his hands to his eyes, holding them the way someone did when they were trying to hide the fact they were crying.

            Derek looked away then. He felt like he was prying into somewhere he didn’t belong. Any lingering thoughts that he’d had about pursuing Stiles had just been blown clear out the water. As much as he might want Stiles, or Stiles might want him, what Stiles needed was Scott and Derek wasn’t going to be the one to take that away from him.

 

*****

 

            Derek needed to get laid. 

            It was getting to the point where it was hazardous to his health. It had been four, no, five months since he’d even tried to pick someone up. His last venture out he’d managed to get himself half a blow job before the guy got fed up by Derek’s lack of enthusiasm.

            That was why he was sat at the bar of Jungle, poking the ice cubes of his drink with his straw. He hated the place. The music was too loud and the place stank of sweat and desperation. He just needed to get laid. It had been nearly six months. It was just a biological need. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was only there because his constant fantasies about a certain student’s guardian had him waking up in a sweat every morning for the last week, hard as a rock and in need of a cold shower.

            Derek slumped forward onto the bar and looked out over the mass of young, toned bodies as they gyrated and danced, trying to attract their companion for that night. He knew it shouldn’t be that difficult for him to pick up a guy. He wasn’t completely oblivious to the double takes people did when he walked past or how each year at least two girls in every class would scribble ‘Future Mrs. Hale’ on their note books and go all breathless when he talked to them. He just didn’t care he was hot, except for when tellers would start flirting with him rather than ringing up his bill, that got annoying. Unfortunately when he _actually_ wanted to pick up a sexual partner he appeared to radiate a field of ‘I don’t want to be here’ that scared everyone off. It should have been easy but it never fucking was! Why did no one else in the world see how fucked up human mating rituals were? He should have just found some guy on Craig’s List or Grindr.

            He turned back to contemplate his drink, knocking the dregs back. He picked out an ice cube and popped it into his mouth, sucking on it for a few seconds before crunching it down. This was pointless, he realised. In his current mood there was no way he was going to pick someone up. Might as well just go…

            Another drink slammed down on the side beside him. It was green. So green it might have been glowing. Derek regarded it for a second, trying to work out why it was there.

            “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

            Derek looked up to the bar tender who had just placed it there. Well. If that wasn’t absolutely fucking typical?

            “Anyone would think you’re stalking me, Mr. Hale,” said Stiles. 

            Of course if Derek was going to go to a gay bar to pick up a guy to have sex with, Stiles just had to be tending bar. There was no alternative, was there? He’d been so lost in his own misery that he hadn’t even noticed.

            Stiles leaned forward onto bar. He was wearing the slightly too tight black t-shirt that all of the bartenders here wore. It made his biceps look positively biteable.

            _Boyfriend, Derek. He has a boyfriend. Think about Isaac. No. Don’t think about any student until you’re slightly less turned on._

            “You did tell me to come find your third job,” said Derek.

            Stiles grinned. Fuck. Did that grin have to be quite so damn adorkable?

            “And here you are. So what brings a guy like you to my neck of the woods?” asked Stiles.

            Derek raised his eyebrows at him.

            “Ah,” said Stiles with a knowing smile. “Same as pretty much every other guy in here. Should have guessed. Seen anything you like?”

            _‘Yes’_ , thought Derek, _‘about thirty seconds ago just after you gave me a neon drink’_.

            He shook his head. Stiles leaned forward and nodded at a group of guys hanging at the side.

            “What about one of them,” he said. “They’ve been checking you out for the last five minutes.”

            So Stiles had been watching him for the last five minutes? Derek didn’t know whether to feel pleased or embarrassed that Stiles had been watching him as he failed to pick up. Derek looked back over his shoulder at them. The guys in question looked like a bunch of frat boys on a night out at the local gay bar but they all perked up when Derek looked back.

            “Come on. Throw them a bone, at least give them a wave or something.”

            Derek rolled his eyes but he still gave them a half-hearted wave before turning back to Stiles.

            “Seriously dude. Do you ever have sex, because your pick up skills kinda suck!”

            Oh god. 

            “Yeah. I’m pathetic. I know.”

            Stiles pushed him in the shoulder.

            “Don’t worry dude. I guarantee you’ll be going home with someone tonight,” said Stiles.

            Derek didn’t look at Stiles. He categorically, absolutely, would not look at Stiles. At least not in his face. He did look at the way Stiles’ fingers curled around the muscles of his arms. He looked at the way his throat moved when he swallowed. He wondered what it would be like to put his lips to the tendons at the side of Stiles neck and lick his way down Stiles’ body.

            “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, doing your job right about now?” said Derek, driving his own nails into his own arm to try and snap himself out of his reverie.

            Stiles looked down the bar. There were four guys tending tonight and no one waiting to be served. It was still early so the club was pretty empty.

            “Ah, they’ll cope without me for a while. This is more important.”

            “This is hopeless,” said Derek, more to himself than to Stiles.

            “Never say never. You already got a drink from the hottest guy in here,” he said.

            Derek looked at the lurid green drink in front of him.

            “And who, exactly, bought me this drink?” Derek asked.

            Stiles blew out a long breath of air as he tried to look innocent, only making him look even more guilty.

            “Technically the house bought you the drink but it was sent from this guy,” said Stiles jerking his thumb towards himself.

            Derek tried to stop the twist in his stomach when Stiles aimed that smirk straight at him. Seriously, that thing should require a licence if he was going to wield it like that.

            “The hottest guy in here? Confident aren’t we,” said Derek, picking up the offending item. He sniffed it. It smelt fruity and sweet, probably tasted sickly and sticky.

            “Don’t pull a face until you taste it,” Stiles chided.

            Derek rolled his eyes and resisted pinching his nose before drinking it down. It was fruity and sweet like he’d been expecting but it was refreshing and light. He could taste rum, coconut and a hint of something else, what was that, melon? It was delicious.

            “Mhmm,” he said. “That is the most beautiful thing I have ever tasted.”

            “Knew you’d like it,” said Stiles. “I call it the Emerald Stilinski. I only make it for my super special customers.”

            Derek put it down on the table and wiped a trail of condensation from off the side. This was hard enough already without Stiles flirting with him. The fact that Stiles was apparently the kind of guy to hit on someone when he _already had a boyfriend_ did nothing to turn Derek off.

            “Thanks for the drink,” said Derek. “I should um… go talk to those guys… or something.”

            Stiles stood back up as well.

            “Yeah. Uh. Okay. I should probably get back to work. I’ll be in enough trouble as it is if they find out I bought the hot guy at the bar a drink so…”

            Derek fished out a twenty from his pocket and shoved it into the tips jar.

            “There,” he said, “You split tips here right? Now none of them can complain.”

            “Thanks man!” said Stiles.

            Before Derek could make even more of an ass out of himself he stood up and walked over to the group of guys, bright green drink in hand. He swapped small talk for a while before his dour demeanour managed to override the allure of his muscles and face and it became apparent that the other guys had no interest.

            He clung to the wall, trying to not look at Stiles every three seconds. Occasionally someone would walk up and try to pick him up and he’d be polite until they got the message and wandered away again so he could return to surreptitiously glancing at the bar. He tried to deny it for as long as he could but eventually he had to admit it to himself. There was only one person he wanted to walk home with that night, and it was the one person he wouldn’t allow himself to. When he went to the bar he made sure to wait until Stiles was busy. _Give up now_ , he thought. _You’re just tormenting yourself. Just go home._

            It was nearly midnight when he admitted defeat. The club was dead tonight. Even if he hadn’t been as lacklustre as he was, he doubted he would have managed to score. Luckily he just lived a few blocks away so he could walk home and clear his head.

            He was a block away from the club when a Jeep pulled into the side of the road. Was he, on top of everything, about to get jacked by some stranger for the three bucks he had left in his pocket? What depressed him most was that it was losing his phone, or more specifically Stiles number of goofy photo stored within it, that worried Derek most.

            His stomach did a little flip when he saw Stiles get out the car and smile at him. He regretted ever wishing Stiles would smile more.

            Why? Why did God hate him this much?

            “Aren’t you supposed to be working tonight?” said Derek. “I distinctly remember you working earlier.”

            “Yeah, they let me go early,” said Stiles with a shrug. “Apparently I kept getting distracted by the hot guy who kept striking out.”

            Stiles walked up so that he was standing way too far into Derek’s personal space for him to feel comfortable.

            “Really,” said Derek rubbing his forehead.

            “Yeah,” said Stiles.

            “Stiles. What are doing?” Derek asked.

             Stiles rolled his neck and laughed.

            “Oh my god, are you kidding or you actually this clueless? I swear to God you are worse than Scott. I said ‘I guarantee you’ll be going home with someone tonight’. Stiles Stilsinski ain’t a liar. I’m here to make sure my guarantee is valid.”

            Stiles looked down at Derek’s lips pointedly. They were so close. So damn close.

            “Does your boyfriend know you’re propositioning guys in back alleys at 1 in the morning?” Derek asked.

            Stiles laughed at that, something deep and guttural that came straight from the belly.

            “Boyfriend? I barely have time to jerk off, what makes you think I have time for a boyfriend?”

            Derek looked at him confused.

            “I thought that you and… the other night at the movies. You… you were on a date.”

            Stiles wracked back through his memories, his face spasaming in hilarity as he realised what Derek was talking about.

            “ _Scott!_ You think I’m dating Scott! Fuck! That is actually hilarious.”

            “You’re… you’re not?”

            “Hell no,” said Stiles, “we’ve been friends, since like, the womb! Our Moms met in antenatal classes. He’s got a girlfriend, they’re practically engaged. You thought he was my boyfriend! I cannot wait to tell him you thought that. Oh my God, no wonder you’ve been so weird! It makes sense now.”

            “I’ve been weird?” asked Derek.

            “Yeah. You kept flirting with me and I thought everything was going great and then you’d shut down. I couldn’t work out what was going on. I just thought it was ‘cause of the whole Isaac thing. Parent-teacher don’t-go-there clause.”

            Derek pressed his fingers to his temples and took a step backwards from Stiles. Stiles was single. Stiles was single and flirting with him. He needed a second to adjust to this new information.

            “So you don’t have a boyfriend?”

            Stiles sucked his lower lip into his mouth and leaned back against the trunk of his Jeep. He shook his head slowly. 

            “Nope.”

            Derek took a step forward. He placed a hand one either side of Stiles on the back of the car, pinning him there without actually touching him. He leaned in close, looking deep into Stiles’ eyes, cataloguing the exact shade they were in this light, the brown turned so dark it was almost black.

            “That’s too bad,” said Derek.

            “You’re telling me,” Stiles whimpered.

            The warmth of Stiles’ breath brushed against his face. Stiles’ mouth twitched, waiting for the kiss. Instead Derek tilted his head to the side, moving his nose to the side of Stiles’ neck and inhaled deeply.

            “Whachya doing there?” Stiles asked, his voice trembling.

            Derek moved his head back to face Stiles, careful not to actually touch him. 

            “I just wanted to check that we were on the same page here,” said Derek.

            Stiles nodded his head, the movements small but fast. 

            “Yeah. I think so. Same book at least. Definitely around the right chapter.”

            Derek lowered his eyes to Stiles lips. He moved close enough to brush his lower lip against Stiles’, making him let out something halfway between a groan and a whimper and completely filled with supressed want.

            “Good.”

            He stepped backward and moved towards the passenger side of the car, pretending not to see the way Stiles slid down the back of the car as his knees gave way or the little dance of victory he did when he stood up. Instead Stiles got into the driver’s seat and readied to drive off, taking a moment to steady himself again.

            “Seriously, how have you been striking out all night?” Stiles asked, “because, dude, seriously, dude. That. Wow.”

            “What can I say,” said Derek, “I reserve my A-game for the things I really want.” 

            Stiles hit his own head into the steering wheel and rested it there.

            “Okay. Can you stop? Because it’s really hard to drive when you’re, you know, hard and I would really like to get home soon so we can sort out the whole hardness situation.”

            Derek bit back a retort and looked out the window. So maybe tonight wasn’t a complete bust after all.

            It didn’t occur to Derek that going back to his place might have been a bit more convenient until they were actually pulling up in the drive way of the Stilinski house. They hadn’t discussed the logistics of this little endeavour, hadn’t really said anything at all, instead opting to sit silently, letting the anticipation build until both of them were alight with it. Truth be told, he was curious to see the place where Stiles lived and grew up. 

            “Isaac’s staying with Boyd for the night,” said Stiles as he showed Derek to the door. “He won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. Do you wanna use the bathroom or get a glass of water or anyth-”

            Derek slammed the front door shut behind him, spun Stiles into the wall and pinned him, making sure as much of his body as possible was pressed into Stiles’.

            “Oh, okay,” said Stiles before Derek used his lips to persuade Stiles’ open and kiss him furiously.

            At first Stiles let Derek claim him. Stiles stood there without resistance as Derek’s tongue explored him but he reclaimed himself enough to moan into Derek’s mouth, his whole body sagging against Derek. Derek took it and leaned even further into Stiles. The young man made a strange gulping noise in his throat followed by a hiss as his whole body jumped.

            “Ah,” he said when Derek detached his lips. He pointed over his shoulder at whatever was on the wall behind him “Antique photo frame. In my spine.”

            “Bedroom?” Derek asked stepping away from him.

            “Yeah, you’re right. Sex in the hallway probably not a good idea,” said Stiles as he backed away from the wall and realigned the picture of his late mother they’d been leaning against.

            “Where?” Derek asked after Stiles made no move for a few seconds.

            “Oh, yeah right. Sorry, been a while since I did this.”

            Derek let Stiles slide out from under him and followed him up the stairs, paying close attention to the sway and camber of Stiles’ ass cheeks as he took the steps two at a time before stepping into his bedroom.

            Stiles’ room still bore traces of the teenage boy he’d once been. There were posters of bands who hadn’t released a single in five years, pages torn from magazines and pinned up with thumbtacks into the plaster and the shelves were lined with photographs and guitar picks, the random bric-a-brac of life that’s so important when you’re young and don’t know any better. The room was a testament to the Stiles of five years ago. The Stiles that had existed before dead mothers and comatose fathers had forced him to become the Stiles’ of today.

            But Derek didn’t have time to read the pages of Stiles’ life because Stiles was pulling his shirt off and the only part of Stiles that Derek wanted to read at that second was the map of Stiles’ body.

            Derek stepped towards Stiles and fell to his knees before his shirt was all the way over his head. He laid his hands on Stiles’ hip bones, angular and a little too prominent but the muscles of his stomach were flat and toned. With the flat of his tongue, Derek lapped at the muscles in worship, eking out a groan of desire from the man. Stiles staggered back, a trail of drool stretched out between them as he weakly grasped at Derek’s shoulders to urge him on. Stiles toppled backwards onto the bed lazily, beginning to mutter some new quip but Derek slid forward, pressing his nose against the outline of Stiles cock.

            “Fuck, you don’t waste your time do you?” Stiles said arching up.

            Stiles reached down and pulled Derek up the bed towards him. Derek supported himself above Stiles, one arm keeping him up while the other crooked around Stiles’ neck, lifting his head to kiss. Stiles tasted like so many things: coffee and cola, electricity and heat, frantic joy with an undercurrent of sadness. Derek wanted to let his tongue roam every inch of Stiles’ body, learn every scent and taste separately. Arms wrapped around Derek’s neck, pulling him in closer. Derek’s arm gave way and he pressed his full weight down onto Stiles. He rolled over so that Stiles on top. The man reared up so he was kneeling, ass in Derek’s lap. Stiles gave a few tortuous rolls of his hips before helping Derek out of his shirt, nimbly undoing the buttons until Derek’s chest was bare beneath him. His face was a mixture of desire and jealousy, the tips of his fingers running down Derek’s body.

            “That’s just not fair,” Stiles whimpered.

            Derek leaned up into Stiles so that they were skin to skin. It felt good, like something was seeping out of Stiles, entering through Derek’s skin and igniting some part of him that had been dormant since… since a very long time ago. 

            Stiles stood up quickly, frantically scrambling to undo his belt. His pants fell off him quickly, like they were a few sizes too big. Looking at him closer Derek could see that even though Stiles was toned, he was decidedly skinny as if he’d been much more muscular but had suddenly lost a lot of weight. The only light in the room came from the moon, full and bright as it streamed through the window. It cast Stiles body in sharp contrasts of light and shadow, highlighting every protruding bone and sunken cavity. Stiles had always seemed so strong in the light, but here in the dark he let his whole self show. He wasn’t weak but Derek could see the cracks beginning to form. Derek wanted to reach out and sooth away the shadows that cut across his body but then Stiles was on his knees at the foot of the bed hands hard at work on Derek’s belt buckle and all traces of vulnerability disappeared in the look of sheer determination Stiles was giving Derek’s crotch.

            “Let me help,” said Derek as Stiles tried to yank down Derek’s pants.

            Derek yelped as they tugged sharply on his hard-on. He’d been wearing his ‘pick-up pants’ today. They were a classic oxymoron of modern mating rituals. Skin tight, they showed of _everything_ Derek had to offer. However they were so damn tight that it made getting the damn things off nearly impossible, especially with a boner, so if he did actually manage to pick-up someone, it led to this.

            Managing to wriggle the waistband below anything valuable, Stiles grabbed the legs of Derek’s pants and pulled for all he was worth.

            “Holy crap, how did you get into these? A crowbar?” Stiles asked as one leg finally slipped free.

            “Nah, I usually grease myself up and they slide right on,” said Derek.

            Stiles halted in his efforts for a second, his face glazed as he let that image sink in. Snapping too he pulled at the second leg with renewed vigour. They suddenly pinged off knocking Stiles flat on his ass as the pants flew out his hand across the room. There was a ping of breaking glass and the pair of them stared into the darkness for a moment.

            “Was that expensive?” Derek asked.

            “Well it was mine. So no.”

            Stiles scrambled back to his feet and launched himself at the bed. They bit and kissed, Derek’s hunger met by Stiles’ own, both needy of the human contact as much as the sex. 

            Stiles was muttering something, half words and nonsense, as he rubbed himself into Derek. Only the fabric of their underwear kept them apart now. Just that. Derek almost didn’t want to take them off. When they did he’d be naked with Stiles. Naked Stiles. He’d dreamed of this. First at night when it wasn’t in his control, then during his waking hours when he stopped trying not to. While the boxers stayed on this was still the fantasy. When they came off it would become real. Or maybe it would fade away. He would wake and find himself in his own bed, wet with sweat and come and alone.

            He almost didn’t want to take them off. Almost. That still left most of him really, really wanting to take them off. Preferably with his teeth.

            Derek settled on using his fingers, as his teeth were busy pulling on Stiles’ lips and tongue. He slid his hands down Stiles shorts, running them down the smoothness of his ass. He splayed his hands out so that they slid down Stiles thighs and with a little jiggling from Stiles, came off completely. He returned his hands to the smoothness of Stiles’ ass, letting his fingers trace the curves and pull at them slightly. Stiles parted his lips, not in a gasp, but not quite a laugh.

            “That’s not fair,” he said, keeping his face close by. “You can’t just start playing with my ass first. There’s an order to these things. You can’t just start straight in with the ass.”

            “You’re right,” said Derek. “I just wanted to make sure your dick was hard _before_ I got my lips on that.”

            Stiles managed a blurt of confusion before Derek flipped him on his back and stooped to take Stiles’ dick in his mouth.

            Okay. So while Derek didn’t really have much preference between genders he did have to admit that sucking cock was, pretty much, one of his favourite things to do in bed besides the actual fucking. He loved the power it gave him over the other person. He could bring them pleasure like they’d never known just by flicking his tongue like he was doing now, making Stiles go blind with the sensation of it. Or he could bring them pain just by grinding his teeth a little too hard. He could feel the pulsing of the blood through Stiles’ cock, how it responded to his touches. It felt good against his tongue, felt right. He loved that Stiles was lying beneath him, rendered unable to move from the sheer wonder of Derek’ touch. Derek moved his mouth back and forth, cataloguing every groan and twitch Stiles made, every flavour as he moved from shaft to head to slit. He lost himself to Stiles’ pleasure, revelling in it as he searched out how to bring Stiles to the apex of sensation.

            Derek swirled his tongue in the way he’d learned from his wild days, the insane blast of self-destructive drunkardness and promiscuity that had taken hold of him after his parent’s death. Stiles bucked and jived, holding back with all he could. A hand firmly pushed on Derek’s shoulder, not strong enough to push him off by force but the meaning was clear.

            Derek wiped the drool that had been creeping down his chin as Stiles threw an arm over his face, panting as he tried to regain his senses. He cast the arm back down and raised himself onto his elbows. 

            “Dude. What you’re doing is awesome, like serious A-game on the blowjob awesome, but I really, really want you to fuck me and as seriously amazing as it would be to come down your throat right now, I have a habit of passing out right after.”

            He looked serious. Well, as serious as Stiles seemed capable of being. Now the thought of fucking Stiles, of being inside him and riding him, was in Derek’s head all other thoughts had gone away. The possibility of it, the sudden cast iron reality of it all hit him.

            He slunk up Stiles body in one swift motion and kissed him. He kissed him hard, the way Stiles should be kissed. Stiles seemed to agree pushing himself up into it and gripping his fingers hard into Derek’s shoulder muscles.

            “Oh dude,” he mumbled when Derek slackened the hold of his lips enough for Stiles to move. “You really have to fuck me. You really have to fucking fuck me right fucking now!”

            Stiles twisted out from underneath Derek slightly, still pinned waist to waist. He fumbled at his bedside table, eventually managing to pull it open so hard that the drawer slid right out and crashed on the ground.

            “Are you fucking kidding me?” he said.

            Derek let him go to see to the situation properly. Stiles was still lying on the bed, torso over the side. His legs were open to support himself, giving Derek a glorious view of his ass. The ass he would soon get to claim as his own. He wanted to just pull Stiles back towards him and enter him then and there but no. For a multitude of reasons, no. A few more seconds wouldn’t kill him and would save Stiles’ ass a world of hurt.

            “I know it’s in here somewhere… yes! Lube and, my god, it doesn’t seem to have congealed due to lack of use. Awesome. Aha! Here we go, now we’re cooking.”

            Stiles wriggled back onto the bed with holding up condoms and lube triumphantly before dropping his eyes down Derek’s body and pointing at his crotch in accusation.

            “How do you still have boxers on?” Stiles asked, scandalised. Derek looked down to see his boxers, though the outline of his erection was clearly visible. “I don’t even know what I’m dealing with here.”

            Derek rolled his eyes and stood up, pulling his boxers down as he did. He put his hands on his hips and turned them slightly to make sure that Stiles got a good, long look at his dick. Stiles pulled a face as if to say ‘eh, I suppose that’ll do’ but it quickly cracked into a smile.

            “Sorry, bad form to laugh at a guy’s dick but in my head you were packing, like, a foot long monster cock which is great in sexual fantasies and porn but in real life… ouch.”

            Derek wasn’t sure whether he should be offended or pleased by that comment. _‘I’m so glad your dick isn’t so big it will rupture my internal organs’_ was an odd compliment, but that’s the way Derek chose to take it.

            “I was always told it’s not the size, it’s how you use it,” said Derek dropping back to his knees. “Right now it’s feeling a mighty under used.”

            Derek and Stiles locked together, kissing frantically as they fell onto the bed. Stiles had his arms wrapped around Derek and he could feel the scratch of the condom packet up and down his back where it was still clenched in Stiles’ fist.

            “Oh man,” said Stiles when they broke apart. “I need to bring guys home from the club more often.”

            “Why haven’t you?” Derek asked, strangely glad that Stiles wasn’t in the habit of bringing random guys home. He hold himself if was out of concern for Isaac’s stability but it wasn’t at all and he knew it.

            “No one really caught my eye before. Besides at the end of a shift I usually fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow so that would make sex a bit more… rapey.”

            “You’re not asleep now,” Derek pointed out.

            “No. No I am not.”

            Stiles smiled and laid back, holding out the foil pack towards Derek, his eyes beckoning him on. Derek shook his head and grabbed for the condom but Stiles snatched it back at the last minute.

            “Hang on,” he said. He held it up to the moonlight, trying to read something. He turned back to Derek squinting. “What’s the date?” he asked.

            “November 12th,” said Derek. It was a quirk of being a teacher that you always knew exactly what the date was. “Why?”

            “Then we’re still in date, score!” he said handing the condom back to Derek. “Like I said. It’s been a while.”

            Derek shook his head and kissed him. Stiles was so utterly ridiculous. He should hate it, it should drive him mad but it just made Derek want to bang him even harder. 

            With one last long kiss, Derek moved down to Stiles waist. He wasted no time in slicking both himself and Stiles up. Stiles arched at the first touch of cold lubricant to soft skin but he controlled his breathing and closed his eyes as he willed himself to relax, to let Derek enter unfettered. However long it had been, it hadn’t been long enough for Stiles to forget everything. Derek took his time, watching Stiles face. It was the first time it had looked like that. Relaxed. Just his face with none of the emotion or hardship playing across it. If it hadn’t been for the rapid trill of Stiles’ pulse at his neck, and the gently worry of his teeth against his lower lip Derek might have thought he was asleep. He was so very beautiful.

            He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ belly stretched out before him making Stiles convulse with a laugh as Derek’s stubble tickled his skin.

            “You good to go?” Derek asked. 

            Stiles didn’t open his eyes but he nodded

            “So ready. So very ready. This is Mr Ready McReader-son over here.” 

            Derek sighed, not because of Stiles inanity, but because he was there, right there. The head of his dick was pressed against Stiles, about to slide in and then it was. He was inside Stiles and all doubts about this being a dream or a hallucination faded. The way that Stiles gasped a little, the momentary spasm before he controlled himself and let Derek in, the feel of Stiles, Stiles, Stiles all around him. He couldn’t imagine that. He just couldn’t. It was new and wonderful and so utterly different, as every new encounter was, that this had to be happening. This had to be real.

            “Fuck,” said Derek. 

            Inch by inch he eased himself, taking a moment to steady himself before moving his hips back and then forward again. Stiles groaned, half pleasure, half discomfort. Derek adjusted himself to find a better angle and heard Stiles sigh with relief.

            “Oh yeah,” he said. “That’s better. I’m good to go now.”

            Derek shook his head and began to roll his hips. Every time he did he heard Stiles moan, every time just a little bit louder and little bit needier until it built to a scream of pleasure. It was Derek’s victory cry, his war call and every sound out of Stiles’ mouth made him want to keep doing this until he died. Stiles’ hands clawed at his body, fingers sliding over skin unable to keep a hold.

            It wasn’t right though. Derek knew what he wanted and while this was good, he knew it could be so much better. He scooped his hand around Stiles waist and hoisted him up off the bed. It took Stiles by surprise and he grabbed out at Derek, clamping around his neck as Derek sat him on his lap. He moved Stiles up and down on himself a few time, physically fucking him onto his cock. Stiles seemed to like that.

            “Fuck!” he shouted loudly.

            Grabbing onto the side of Derek’s head, Stiles dragged his lips over Derek’s, not quite together enough to control his lips and kiss him properly. He swore over and over and Derek could see the way his eyes screwed shut in the agony of extreme pleasure but it was too difficult to keep this up for long. Strong as he was, Derek couldn’t do this forever and he wanted to reserve some of his energy yet.

            “I like you riding me,” said Derek. He started to lay down, keeping Stiles on top of him. “I want to watch you. Like this.”

            Stiles was straddled across Derek, split wide and impaled. God he looked good like that. He was sweating and half delirious but a few bucks from Derek was all that it took before Stiles got the message and started to grind himself frantically against Derek. Derek reached down and caressed Stiles skin, ending with his fingers around Stiles cock. He pumped and pulled while Stiles pushed into it, alternating between fucking his hand and his cock alternately. Stiles slumped forward, he looked exhausted and Derek knew that he couldn’t be far off. He hoped so, because Derek could feel it now. _He_ wasn’t far off. He could feel it, building deep within him. He wanted to come. He wanted to come inside Stiles, to hold him there and not let him go. 

            With a scream Stiles came all over Derek’s abs. The sensation of hot come on his skin, the smell so strong he could almost taste it was enough to have Derek over the edge a few minutes later. They ground together lazily for a few strokes, squeezing out the last vestiges of orgasm before Stiles slid sideways and sprawled across the bed.

            “That was… that was… yeah.”

            “Yeah,” Derek agreed.

            Stiles rolled his head to the side to look at Derek who looked back. Derek bit down on his smile as Stiles did on his own. Stiles cracked first, snorting out a laugh before completely submitting to it and soon Derek was in fits beside him. They waited until it ran its course, leaving the two of them there on the bed.

            Derek sighed and ran his fingers down his abs to where come was rapidly drying.

            “Oh right, my manners. Bathroom is second door on the left,” he said. “Use the towels in the cupboard or Isaac will literally kill me.”

            Derek laughed and went to go and clean himself up, grabbing his boxers on the way. He also took the opportunity to pour himself a glass of water and drink it down all at once. It washed the taste of Stiles out of his mouth, which made him sadder than it really should have done, but he had had a fair few drinks that night and done a lot of physical exertion. He refilled the glass and returned to the bedroom to find Stiles still lying where he’d left him. He was staring up at the ceiling sightlessly.

            “You can pass out now if you want,” Derek joked.

            “Normally I would,” he said, “but I think you might have fucked me into a new level of consciousness right now.”

            Derek put down the glass of water on the night stand. He ran his fingers down the condensation of the glass. This was the bit of these affairs that Derek usually had no problem with, the aftermath. Get cleaned up, get dressed, get gone. Some found it awkward but not him, not unless the other person got clingy and didn’t want to go. Like he didn’t want to go right now. He just wanted to stay here, with Stiles. He traced patterns on the side of the glass with his fingers to stretch out the time before he out stayed his welcome.

            God, look at him. He knew what this was, knew what he was getting into. He pushed the glass of water towards Stiles who sat up to drink it down, seemingly just as dehydrated by their shenanigans as Derek had been. Derek stretched his arms over his head, ending up playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, like he always did when he was nervous.

            “So, um, you drove me here. Should I like… order a cab or something?”

            Stiles looked over at him, cheeks swollen with water. He swallowed it down fast before answering.

            “What? You’re leaving?”

            He looked… not exactly scared, but apprehensive. He pulled the covers over him self-consciously, rather redundant given what they’d just done. 

            “Isn’t that what usually happens? With this kinda thing,” Derek asked.

            That had always been his experience up until now. You go back to someone’s place, you fuck, you go home. Sometimes you might take a shower first but that was the general outline. Stiles looked at him strangely.

            “Not generally in _my_ experience. I thought that a bed for the night and a half decent breakfast was part of the deal. What kind of guys have you been sleeping with?” Stiles laughed.

            “The kind of guys who don’t want you to actually sleep with them,” Derek said. To be fair on the other guys, that was what he was usually after. This was the first time he’d thought that maybe spending the night with another warm body in the bed might be quite nice. “You don’t mind if I stay?”

            “Actually, that was kind of the part I was looking forward to,” Stiles said avoiding Derek’s eyes. “I like to be around people. It’s gets pretty lonely in this house when it’s just me but if you want to go that’s cool.”

            Derek shook his head.

            “No. Staying’s good.”

            Stiles shoulders relaxed from a tension Derek hadn’t even realised was there. 

            “Awesome,” he said quietly. “Sorry. Like I said, it’s been a while. I forget the etiquette for this kind of thing. I mean I work in a bar, I see people going home together all the time so I know that bit but the, uh, aftermath. Not so clued up on that. Have to do some more research next time.”

            Stiles pulled his legs up, leaning against them as he eyed Derek cautiously, still on the defensive. 

            “How long has it been?” Derek asked.

            “Personal much?” Stiles said. He rolled his eyes and dropped his arms, opening up his body. “This is the first time since my Dad got shot if you gotta know.”

            “Seriously?” Derek asked. He didn’t know why he was surprised. It wasn’t like he’d had sex any more recently.

            “A while before that actually. I’ve been pretty exhausted lately,” said Stiles laying his head back down on the pillow. He was smirking up at Derek, eyes beginning to hood with sleepiness. “I haven’t had anyone catch my eye enough to make the effort over. Until now that is.”

            Derek ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair again.

            “That’s a damn shame. You should be kissed, often and by someone who knows how.”

            The words were out before he could catch them. Seriously Derek? Quoting Rhet Butler? What do you think this is? He pulled his hand back but Stiles was looking at him, sleepy but it was almost… loving.

            “Well you certainly seem to know how.”

            The promise hung in the air between them but Stiles’ eyes were already drifting shut. There would be time for working out that in the morning. Right now, Derek was content to sleep with someone for the first time in what felt like forever.

 

*****

 

            At first when he woke up the next morning, Derek was disorientated. He was in a room that definitely wasn’t his own. There were colours. And thing. Way, way, way too many things. Why was he in some teenager’s room? Oh shit! He’d really blown it this time. He was going to get fired for-

            Derek caught sight of Stiles work shirt from the phone store hanging over the back of his desk chair and the previous night came back to him. He smiled and hunkered down into the pillow, stretching out to the divet that must have been left by Stiles sleeping body. It had taken Derek almost an hour to get to sleep. He’d never been good at drifting off so had spent the time spooned up against Stiles, rubbing his nose across his back and watching the way the moon light played on his face, the post-sex haze making him delirious. 

            With a stretch he got out of bed and began to walk around the room, looking at all the objects of Stiles’ life that he hadn’t had time to look at before. There were books everywhere: text books on every subject, library books, moth eaten paperbacks from second hand and thrift stores, hard backed tomes that looked like they’d been in the family for years. The books were as varied in content too. There were a lot of books on robotics, computing and the like, but also books on Biology, English, religion, fiction of every genre, though it was a generic spy novel that was on the bedside table. There was a book on Vietnam, Derek noted with glee, dropped on top of a messy stack of computer print outs.

            Many of them had scraps of paper or candy wrappers shoved in between the pages to mark some important passage. One book, a book on oncology, was littered through with them, edges bristling. Derek pressed his fingers to it. Even though his mother was gone, Stiles was still searching for the way to save her. Derek could understand. 

            On the edge of the computer monitor was a photo of the Stilinksi family: Stiles, both parents and Isaac. Isaac looked young, just on the cusp of puberty and he still stood awkwardly with his new family but Stiles was smiling wide and had him wrapped in a big bear hug while Mr and Mrs Stilinski flanked them both. They looked like a family. Were a family. Had been.

            He left the room then. He’d pried too much already. He pulled his boxers on and as soon as he opened the door, Derek was struck by the aroma of cooking bacon and the high pitched screeches of Stiles singing along to the radio.

            “ _Can’t read my, can’t read my, no he can’t read my poker face! She’s got me like nobody._ ”

            Derek followed the smell to find Stiles in the kitchen. At least Derek assumed there was a kitchen in there somewhere amongst the dirty dishes, unopened mail and general mess. 

            “Sanitary,” he said, leaning against the door.

            Stiles looked back at him over his shoulder.

            “Oh. Yeah. I keep meaning to clean but… well I bet you can guess how it is. I thought I’d distract you with bacon. Appreciate the bacon, it only comes out for special occasions in this house. I hope you liked scrambled eggs because I do not know how to cook anything else.”

            Derek laughed and walked over to where Stiles was cooking on the stove. He was frying the bacon wearing nothing but his sweat pants and the fat would occasionally spit up at him making him twitch as it landed on his bare skin. 

            “I’ll eat anything in the morning as long as I can have a coffee with it.”

            Stiles laughed.

            “My Dad’s the same. Me too now, at least since the-” Stiles stopped himself, a brief look of discomfort crossing his face before he shook it away. “The stuff’s in that cupboard there.”

            Derek grabbed the beans and a cup and set the machine running. 

            “Hey cool tattoo,” said Stiles pointing his spatula at Derek’s back. “I didn’t notice it last night.”

            “That would be because you spent most of the time on your back.”

            Stiles snorted.

            “It’s called a Triskele,” Derek continued. “The three spirals all mean different things. Different things for different people.”

            Still occupied with the coffee maker, Derek felt Stiles’ fingers trace the pattern on his back.

            “What does it mean to you?” Stiles asked.

            Derek reached over his shoulder at the ghost of Stiles’ fingers and Stiles took that to mean he shouldn’t touch and moved away. But Derek wanted him to touch. It had been so long since anyone had touched him that tenderly.

            “It’s kind of a family tradition. We all had one. My mom’s was this ornate thing on her shoulder. It was decorated with ivy leaves all over it. I didn’t get mine until after they died. To me the bottom two represent the past and the future. They’re the foundation of your actions. Learn from the past, prepare for the future. But the top one? That’s the present. It’s the important one. That’s where you’ve got to live, where you’ve got to be or you’ll get lost in your past and spend your whole life worrying about the future.”

            “Woah,” said Stiles. “How’s that philosophy working out for you so far?”

            “Right now? Pretty great. The rest of the time… not so much.”

            Stiles ran his fingers down Derek’s back again. He was seconds away from pushing back into them, twisting around and kissing Stiles again when Stiles sniffed loudly, swore, and jumped to try to salvage what he could from the eggs.

            “I hope you like them well done!”

            Well done was one way to put it. The eggs were chewy, over cooked where they weren’t burned. At least the bacon was good. It was pretty hard to get bacon wrong. They ate off of the breakfast bar, leaning against the edge on opposite sides as they ploughed through their meal. They talked the whole time. Banal stuff about work and rent and what films they wanted to see but Derek still found himself laughing more than he usually did in a whole week. It was nice.

            When they finished Stiles grabbed up the plates and looked at the full sink for the moment before adding them to the stack on the side with a promise of ‘ _Later’._ He walked back up towards Derek, leaning on the side opposite him.

            “So, uh, I had fun last night,” said Stiles. He ran his fingers through his hair, shoulders raised defensively as he sidled closer to Derek. “If you, I dunno, wanted to do it again sometime I could be behind that. Or in front. Or… perpendicular?” He frowned at the last one, as if he was annoyed at himself for not coming up with something better, something sexier but Derek didn’t mind. It was plenty sexy to him. “You know sometime. If you’re not too busy.”

            “I could be behind that,” said Derek. 

            He put his coffee cup down on this counter beside him and thrust away from the side towards Stiles in one fluid motion.

            “Or in front.”

            Derek took a long slow step forward, eyes targeted on Stiles. He placed his hands on the counter, either side of Stiles’ hips, his wrists pressing against the soft jersey of his pyjama pants.

            “Or perpendicular.”

            Stiles swallowed. Hard.

            “Or now. Now is good.”

            Stiles pressed his face into Derek’s, drawing his own upwards against his stubble. His lips were quivering with longing and Derek just had to suck one into his mouth, biting down on it until Stiles’ whined in pleasure. Stiles hands caressed the side of Derek’s face, pulling him closer in. 

            With the edge of his arm, Derek pushed the detritus of the worktop backwards to clear a space. He grabbed Stiles around his ass and hoisted him onto the worktop. Derek pulled his face away and immediately went down on his knee, face level with Stiles’ crotch. He curled his fingers over the elastic of Stiles’ pants, pulling them down just enough to expose Stiles’ dick, beginning to tremble with the first rumbles of arousal.

            “Yeah. Definitely going to need to clean the kitchen now,” said Stiles as Derek sucked in the head of his cock.

            Stiles hand immediately shot to Derek’s hair, accompanied by a clatter as some carefully balanced pile of dishes avalanched cross the counter. It made Derek smile. How long had it been since he’d had this feeling? The feeling that he needed to have someone, right here, right now or he’d go mad with the desire. Had he ever had it?

            Under the expert guidance of his tongue, Stiles’ was quickly beginning to harden and Derek wasn’t doing too badly himself. Bracing himself with one hand, he palmed himself with the other but quickly returned his hand to help out with Stiles. It was Stiles he really wanted hard. It was Stiles’ cock that he wanted to be doing the work this time round.

            “Hey Stiles, have you seen my lacrosse stick anywhere? Me and Boyd want to-WHOA! Dude! Seriously? I eat in here?”

            Derek spun on his knees so fast that it hurt when his back slammed into the cabinet door. Stiles’ leg kicked him hard in the side as he flailed to cover himself up. Across the room Isaac was stood, shielding his eyes in horror at the scene before him but he was still smiling. Slowly he dropped his arms as he turned back towards them.

            “Man if I’d known you had a guy back here I’d have…” 

            Isaac stopped talking. He looked at Derek on the floor. He could feel his own look of guilt and panic. Isaac took a long breath in before pointing at Derek and turning to face Stiles.

            “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

            “Isaac” said Stiles. “I know this is weird for you but-”

            “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME! My fucking history teacher Stiles? You couldn’t just fuck one of the hundred other guys who hit on you every damn night. It had to be my history teacher.”

            Stiles held his hands up in supplication as he crossed the room to his brother.

            “Isaac. You’re pissed. I get it. I would be to but you gotta understand-”

            “No! No I don’t! Why? Why do you always have to fucking do this?”

            “What have I done now?” Stiles asked.

            “You _fucked_ my _history teacher!_ ” 

            “Isaac this isn’t… this isn’t a thing,” Stiles stuttered out.

            Derek tried not to be hurt by that. He shouldn’t have been hurt by that.

            “Why do you always have to do this, Stiles? Is it because he was taking an interest in me? Because he was trying to get my grades up and actually give a crap about school and what, you wanted to pay me back for all the times I ‘stole’ your Dad away? Or Scott? Fuck you Stiles!”

            Isaac turned around and fled up the stairs.

            “Isaac? Isaac!” Stiles called, following after him.

            Derek spent a few more stunned seconds on the floor before scrabbling to his own feet. He was halfway up the stairs before Stiles turned and faced him, his eyes wide with frustration.

            “Okay, Derek. I’m sorry but you need to leave. Like now,” said Stiles, his eyes constantly darting up and down the corridor.

            “Yeah of course. Are you alright?”

            “What? Yeah, I’m fine. Please. Just, can you just get dressed and go?”

            Stiles looked away from Derek in a panic, eyes darting to Isaac’s door. Derek wanted to help, to fix this, but he knew the longer he stayed the more likely it was this would all blow up in their faces. Derek started to head towards Stiles’ room to grab his clothes, pausing at the doorway.

            “I’ll call you,” he said as Stiles walked down towards Isaac’s room.

            “Yeah, sure whatever,” Stiles said with a dismissive wave. “Just… you need to go.”

            Stiles called his brother’s name, pleading with him through the door. Derek slipped into his room and quickly grabbed his clothes. When he emerged, fully dressed, back into the corridor Stiles was nowhere to be seen though he could hear both his and Isaac’s voices, raised but muffled by the closed door.

            Derek paused in the hallway, thinking about leaving a note but what was he supposed to say? Instead he just walked out the front door. Luckily Boyd was parked up and facing the other way so he could walk past unnoticed as he tried to work out how the hell he was supposed to get home.

 

*****

 

            After two hours of walking, Derek was only a few blocks away from his home. He had briefly considered calling Bobby or Jennifer to come pick him up but Jen would have been depressingly concerned while Bobby would have been insufferable. If Bobby Finnstock ever caught wind of what had happened the previous night he would have announced it over loud hailer at the next lacrosse game.

            _“This one goes out to the man slut who I had to pick up last Saturday morning after getting kicked out of the house by his one night stand, your very own history teacher Mr. Hale!”_

            Pass on that thanks. 

            Instead he checked where he was on his phone and started the long trek back through town. The walk was exactly what Derek needed right now. It was a crisp Sunday morning and the air cleared his head.

            He would have to go see the principal on Monday or at least his union rep. While he hadn’t been doing anything wrong he had been caught in the middle of performing a sex act by a student. Would Isaac tell? Make some allegation against Derek to get back at him? Would he be that angry? Derek tried to reassure himself that Isaac wasn’t that sort of kid but he was still too highly strung to really believe it. The whole situation could get real messy, real quickly. He needed to cover his ass. Beacon Hills High School was a hot bed of gossip, nothing stayed hidden for long. That was just as true among the teachers as it was amongst the students. If he told anyone it would be around the staff room by lunch time, transformed into some lurid tale about him getting caught with a student in the school cafeteria or such nonsense.

            For fuck’s sake! How had this become his life? All he’d wanted was some quick, no strings sex and now _this_ had happened. Just his stupid luck. Derek could never catch a break.

            Best not to dwell on it, he told himself. He was still a long way from home and if he spent the entire time thinking about Stiles he’d go mad. He could feel his phone burning a hole in his pocket already but there was no point, he repeatedly told himself. Stiles would still be dealing with Isaac. God, he really hoped he hadn’t totally fucked up that relationship. They needed each other.  He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Nurse McCall in the stands at the lacrosse game. At the time he thought she’d been warning him off screwing up her son’s relationship. He realised now she’d been warning him against doing the exact thing he’d just gone and done.

            Derek kept on walking. He liked to walk. He walked wherever he could. People thought that Derek was strange for it, but he’d grown up on the edge of the forest. He and his family could spend long days hiking in the trails, camping deep in the woods and swapping ghost stories to freak each other out. The house was still there, on the edge of the woods but a different family lived in it now. Derek and Laura had sold it after the accident. It was too painful to live in a family home when there was no family to fill it. With a sudden pang he missed them all as he hadn’t missed them in a long time and his guilt at potentially destroying what little family Stiles and Isaac had left took on a whole new poignancy.            

            Winter was rapidly approaching and it was cold out today. Derek was glad that he’d taken his winter coat and scarf out with him the previous night but even with the extra layers he was thoroughly chilled when he finally made it back to his apartment.

            Derek’s apartment had the potential to be a very swanky bachelor pad. The walls were painted a soft grey or left as exposed brick, most of the inbuilt furnishings were black and sleek and the chairs were all leather. It screamed cool and suave but none of it had anything to do with Derek. It had been Laura’s apartment. She’d loved things to be clean and ordered whereas Derek was much more of a ‘rescued from a dumpster’ kind of a guy. He’d left it more or less how she’d had it, his way of keeping her alive, though his chaos was beginning to take hold. The dining table was currently lost beneath a class room display he was working, hiding the multitude of scratches he’d left in the expensive varnish. The book cases were still full of her old books, though Derek’s were now shoved in wherever they would fit as well and there was a stack of Blu-Rays beside the TV that he’d been meaning to put away for about 4 months.

            Derek threw his keys into the bowl on the side and fished his phone out of his pocket. He checked his messages, half hoping that maybe Stiles had sent him a text but there was nothing. He argued with himself for a bit before bringing up Stiles’ ridiculous photo and dialling him. It rang for a minute before a tinny recording of Stiles’ voice informed him that he ‘ _is too busy being awesome to come to the phone right now’_ and he should leave a message. Instead Derek hung up and send a text instead.

            _Hey. Just got home. Hope everything is alright with Isaac? Let me know if there’s anything you need._

It was a simple enough text but Derek still read it half a dozen times before finally hitting send. He watched the screen for thirty seconds before realising that Stiles was probably away from his phone if he hadn’t picked up. Derek crossed over to his refrigerator, a massive thing that seemed to take up half the kitchen. Laura had always kept it stocked with a beers from local breweries, meats from the local farmers market and a piece of her favourite pie hidden somewhere at the back for emergencies. Derek found a single can of Budweiser that had been in there God knows how long and left over take away of various ages. He searched through the containers, throwing away three of them, until he found one that took his fancy and sat down at the counter. It was still before midday but he grabbed the Bud as well. After the morning he’d had, he deserved it.

            He tried to avoid watching his phone, leaving it on the other side of the counter. He pretended to himself that his entire body wasn’t tensed to grab it the second that it trilled but that was exactly what he did when it beeped to inform him he had a text. It was from Stiles.

            _Glad you got home safe. Sorry for everything._

Derek read the message again. That was it. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting, or even what he’d wanted, but it was definitely more than that. He contemplated just leaving Stiles alone to sort everything out and asking him about it later, but no. Derek could never just leave things be.

            _Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. Are you? Is Isaac totally freaking out?_

He didn’t have to wait long this time.

            _Isaac’s fine. Just angry._

There was a brief pause before a second message came.

            _Isaac won’t say anything. You’re cool._

Shit. Isaac might not say anything but this was definitely going to cause issues in their student-teacher relationship. Derek had been so caught up in Isaac and Stiles relationship that he hadn’t even really thought about what was going to happen when Monday rolled around and he was supposed to teach Isaac. The kid might not say anything but if he’d been acting up before that was nothing compared to what he could get away with now. How the hell was Derek supposed to deal with that? Monday’s were no one’s favourite day, but tomorrow might just end up being the worst Monday of Derek’s professional career.

 

*****

 

            When it came time for Isaac’s class Derek was jittery as hell, wondering how Isaac would react to having to see him again and being told he should report to Ms. Blake for detention now. He’d been keeping an eye out during the school day but hadn’t seen him in the hallways. Derek wasn’t that surprised when the rest of the class had already filed in and Isaac was conspicuous by his absence. He asked where he was but the rest of the students shrugged, said he’d been in Biology that morning so he must be here. Boyd and Erica, Isaac’s new recruit and his long standing partner in crime, were remaining strangely silent on the topic. When he dismissed the rest class he kept the two of them back. 

            “Where is he? Isaac, why isn’t he here?” Derek asked. 

            “He said he didn’t want to come to History,” said Boyd, earning him a death glare from Erica.

            “Did he say why?” His heartbeat was racing. They obviously knew something but how much did they know? Had Boyd seen him leaving the Stilinski’s home? But Boyd shook his head. “Okay, do you know where he is? He’s on thin ice already, he can’t start skipping classes now.”

            The pair looked at each other guiltily. It was that age old conflict. Derek was the man, the authority, the symbol of everything that was wrong in their teenage lives. But he was also right. They cared about Isaac enough to know that letting him throw his life away was not what was best for him.

            “The bleachers,” Erica said quietly.

            Derek swore internally. He should have guessed. He let them go and made his way out to the lacrosse fields, glad he had the next period free so that he could give Mr Lahey the full piece of his mind that he deserved.

            There was only one reason why kids slunk out of class and disappeared off behind the bleachers in the middle of the day. The wind was blowing in his face so Derek could smell the sickly sweet scent of marijuana from half way across the pitch. The school knew that all the stoners of school snuck out here to spark up during the middle of class. They patrolled past here as often as they could but the kids quickly learned the schedule. Short of posting a permanent guard the whole time there was little they could do about it, and even that would only make them find some other spot to make reefer central. At least out here it didn’t stink up the school.

            The shout of ‘ _Teacher_ ’ went up and several students scattered out from the sides. Isaac wasn’t among them. This wasn’t about getting high to Isaac. This was about something far more self-destructive. Getting caught was probably half the point.

            When he got there, sure enough, Isaac was slumped against the struts underneath the bleachers. Even if he’d wanted to run the boy looked like he could barely stand. His eyes were red and his face was fixed in a blissed out grin.

            “Should you be out here alone with me Mr. Hale?” he slurred. “Think of all the things I could say.”

            Derek wanted to walk over there, drag Isaac by the scruff of his neck and throw him into the pool to sober him up. It was what Isaac needed right now but it would have broken several rules of conduct and probably even a law or two.

            “What the hell are you doing Isaac?” he said instead.

            “I’m just… chillaxing,” he said before laughing.

            “You’re throwing your damn life away,” he said angrily.

            “It’s my life,” said Isaac leaning against the stands. “I can do what the fuck I please with it. Who cares anyway?”

            “Who cares? Who cares? I dunno, maybe your brother?”

            Isaac started laughing in that way people only do when they are stoned out of their minds. 

            “Stiles? Stiles is not my brother. My brother’s dead, he doesn’t care. Stiles is going to get fed up with me sooner or later and leave because that’s what always happens. He’s doing it already. He’s never at my games, he’s never home. He doesn’t want to be around the fuck up. He’s going to leave, I might as well just make him leave faster.”

            “Is that seriously what you think?” Derek yelled at him. “You think Stiles doesn’t care, so that’s why he’s working three jobs just to keep a roof over your head? You keep whining and complaining about how he’s never there for you because he’s off working his ass off, for you! You could at least show a little damn gratitude. He has given up everything in his life, for you.”

            “I thought working his ass off was your job,” said Isaac.

            Derek felt his jaw clench up and the heat rise up his neck and spill onto his face. He’d been expecting that but it still bit deep.

            “I should just go ahead and tell the school board that you exposed yourself to me,” said Isaac. “I should tell them how you forced me into detention, how you kept sitting next to me and complimenting me and then how one day you just turned around to kiss me and I tried to stop it sir, I really did. I could take all the anger at my ‘brother’ and channel it into taking you down.”

            He was grinning madly, confident in his victory over Derek. Derek looked at him and sighed.

            “You’re not going to do that Isaac,” he said.

            “And what makes you so sure?” Isaac asked.

            “Because you’re not your father.”

            Derek looked him straight in the eye as he said it. He watched as the smile slowly fell and faded off of Isaac’s face. It had been a low blow, Derek knew that, but sometimes you had to fight dirty to get your point across and break through the bullshit. Isaac cast his eyes down, looking like he was about to be sick. Oh shit. Had Derek just made him green out or something? That was just what he needed.

            “Stiles would be better without me,” he said slowly. “He could go back to college, get a life, a real boyfriend instead of one night stands with history teachers.”

            Derek bit his tongue. Literally. He’d tried to call Stiles a few more times but he’d always been sent to voice mail and any reply to a text was short and perfunctory. He just wanted to make sure that everything was okay with Stiles. Was that too much to ask?

            “He cares about you,” said Derek. “He’s your brother. He wants to do everything he can for you. I know you’ve lost people but Stiles doesn’t want to go anywhere. He fought too hard to keep you to just let you go.”

            Isaac looked up at Derek with red rimmed eyes.

            “Quit acting like you’re the goddamn messiah. You think you know shit about me because you read some file on me or because you took me for some stupid essay lessons? You don’t know me at all. You don’t know anything about me. Or Stiles. You talk to Melissa once and suddenly you’re the world expert on him? Yeah, I saw you at the lacrosse game. I thought you were talking about me behind my back but now I know you were just trying to get Stiles into bed. You don’t know shit. What’s his favourite colour? Movie? You don’t know shit. You don’t know shit.” 

            “You’re right Isaac,” said Derek. “I don’t know that but what I do know is the kind of person Stiles is and I didn’t need anyone to tell me that. He’s the kind of person who puts up with everyone’s bullshit and does what needs to be done even when he knows he’s not going to get any thanks for it.”

            “He’s the kind of person who fucks my history teacher, is who he is.” Isaac managed to focus his eyes enough to glare at Derek. “Why did _you_ have to do it? Why did you have to fuck my god damn holy brother?”

            “Because he deserved it,” Derek shouted. “Because he works his ass of for an ungrateful shit like you and he deserved one night to himself. He deserves to get what _he_ wants, what he needs for one fucking night.”

            Isaac turned away from Derek then, curling forward over himself, still looking like he was somewhere between falling asleep and throwing up. He was pale and his skin was damp with sweat despite the cold. “Oh man I’m wasted.”

            Derek controlled his breathing, mastering his anger before he said anything else that could get him into trouble. He’d already said more than he should.

            “You got any water?” Derek asked him.

            Isaac shrugged towards his bag. Derek fished around in it until he pulled out a bottle of water. Isaac held his hand out for it but instead Derek emptied it over his head. Isaac spluttered and looked at him in accusation but Derek just stood up.

            “Go take a shower. A cold one. Change into something that doesn’t reek of pot, get back to class and I’ll forget that I ever saw you here. Self-destruction doesn’t suit you Isaac. You’re better than that.”

            Isaac tried to hold Derek’s eye for a bit longer before dropping his own in submission. As Isaac began to struggle to his feet, Derek turned around and walked back to class.

 

*****

 

            By Wednesday, Derek gave up on phone calls and texts when one of his more smart-aleck students told him off for texting under the desk during class. He decided instead that he would wait for the weekend and would catch Stiles in person at the phone store. It was verging on the territory of creepy stalker but Derek figured it was called for.

            The week turned into one of those weeks where time seems to stop flowing properly. Instead it oozed past, every second stretching out interminably. Each line of every paper caused him physical pain to read and every question in class seemed more inane than the last. In the evenings he realised his aloneness as he sat in his one bed apartment watching trashy TV and eating bad food but slowly Saturday morning rolled around and he found himself driving down to the store.

            He spotted Stiles talking to a customer, all smiles and easy conversation, and stood half hidden by a display watching him. That really was creepy stalker territory. Derek told himself it was so that Stiles could do his job properly without having to worry about the fact that the guy who his little brother caught blowing him on the kitchen table was staring at him from afar.

            When the lady thanked Stiles and moved away, Derek swept forward before anyone else had a chance to jump in. A wave of distress passed over Stiles’ face when he finally saw Derek. He jerked his head away, looking for an escape route before controlling himself and turning back to Derek.

            “Hey there,” he said awkwardly.

            “Hi,” said Derek.

            They stood there for a moment in awkward silence, neither looking at the other. Eventually Stiles spoke.

            “Sorry I haven’t returned your calls,” he said looking down at his hands. His long fingers tensed and rolled as he talked. “It was just… I… the thing is… Isaac, you know…”

            “Yeah,” said Derek. “I know.”

            Stiles looked up slightly at Derek.

            “Look. That night was fun. Really, really fun, but I can’t. I just… I just can’t.”

            “I know,” said Derek. He did. He wished he didn’t, wished it wasn’t true. But he did.

            “Don’t get me wrong, you were a great lay, possibly the best, but Isaac went into complete meltdown and threatened to run away and…”

            “I get it,” said Derek. “You don’t need to apologise to me. I just wanted to check you were okay.”

            Stiles gaped at that for a moment. Derek wondered when it was that someone had last asked Stiles if _he_ was okay.

            “Um… yeah. It was hard work for a few days and Isaac still won’t look me in the eye but we’ll get by. We always do. They strike us down but somehow we just keep on going.”

            His voice was filled with hollow optimism, the kind someone has when they try to see the glass half full all the time even when they know that the glass is not only empty but has been smashed to pieces on the floor.

            “Look, I’m sorry if I led you on or anything,” Stiles continued. “I don’t have time for anything serious right now, I was just looking for some fun to take my mind off everything and it _was_ fun. Like super fun, five stars, A++, would highly recommend but the whole deal with Isaac makes it… distinctly less fun.”

            The fact that Derek had just been a distraction shouldn’t have made Derek feel as bad as it did. He hid it from his face because if Derek was good at anything it was burying his feelings deep down. Way deep down. He might have a crappy poker face at cards but when it came to emotions he could hide those like nobody else. He’d tried to stop himself from feeling like he had some deep connection to Stiles. They’d always known this was a casual thing. The fact that Stiles had previously wanted a second round just meant that Derek wasn’t completely terrible in bed. It didn’t mean that they were dating or anything like that. Derek wasn’t stupid enough to think someone like Stiles would want to date him. He didn’t care, it was no big deal.

            And if Derek told himself all that enough eventually he would start to believe it.

            “I understand. They always warn us about getting involved with the parents of students. I probably shouldn’t have done anything in the first place. Not that I regret it,” Derek added hastily. 

            A grin ghosted across Stiles face for a second. Apparently he didn’t regret it that much either.

            “Isaac hasn’t given you any trouble, has he?” said Stiles.

            “No,” said Derek. Since the run in under the bleachers Isaac had turned up to every lesson, sat in the back corner silently and never once looked up from his notebook. “None.”

            “Thank god,” said Stiles with a sigh. “He’s been kind of erratic since the shooting. One moment he’s shouting and screaming because I turned his underwear blue, the next he’s moping around like a kicked puppy. They didn’t tell me how to cope with this. There was no _‘So you’ve just been left to look after your psychologically scarred fifteen year old brother’_ pamphlet at the hospital. I checked.”

            Derek wanted to hug him but knew that he couldn’t. Actually, it was because he shouldn’t. There was nothing stopping him from reaching out and grabbing him and never letting go but he didn’t because it would just make everything a hundred times more complicated. Instead Derek settled for resting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and telling him he was doing a good job. It was obvious Stiles didn’t believe him.

            “I should be getting back to work,” he said, brushing Derek off casually. “I saw someone who looked like they needed help. It was uh… good to see you.”

            Derek doubted the customers were real but let Stiles go anyway. They would go back to being strangers who occasionally met in the hospital around their family members rooms, who nodded at each other when they passed in the grocery store and at school occasions, pretending that none of this had ever happened. It was all just go away. 

            The realisation sank into him like teeth. It would all just go away. Everything he and Stiles had had in their short time together would just melt away into nothing more than a person he once knew. He couldn’t cope with that. He could let Stiles walk away, it was where he always knew this would go, but he couldn’t just blank him totally out of his life. Just as Stiles stepped away, Derek grabbed his arm.

            “Don’t feel like you can’t text me because of Isaac,” said Derek. “If you need someone to talk to there’s no reason we can’t at least be friends.”

            He would take anything, anything Stiles could give him, just as long as Stiles was in his life. For a moment Derek saw a flicker of longing in Stiles face before he snuffed it out and gave Derek a placid nod. 

            “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. I gotta get back to work. See you around Derek.”

            “See you around Stiles.” 

            Derek watched as he left, going to talk to some couple who were looking at handsets. Stiles seemed to only be paying half attention, nodding a long and asking the woman to repeat what she needed at least once when Derek realised he’d been standing there a little too long. He left the store, trying to ignore how painful it felt to leave Stiles behind. 

 

*****

 

            They ran into each other a few times after that. Mostly at the hospital, so Isaac was there with them. They exchanged pleasantries and passed each other by, Isaac’s eye always on Derek’s back. The one time when Isaac wasn’t there the conversation didn’t flow as it once had. It was stilted and strange, highlighted all the more against how easy Derek had found it to be around Stiles before. Derek found himself constantly fighting the urge to touch Stiles, to comfort him, to let him know that he didn’t have to do this alone but Stiles always stayed just out of reach. The further Derek extended the hand of friendship, the further back Stiles shrank from it. He talked too fast, talking about topics with no relevance and he constantly twitched and fidgeted, so much so that Derek wondered if he could no longer afford his ADHD medication. He didn’t ask. After that Derek didn’t meet them in the hospital anymore. He had the strong suspicion that Stiles has changed their visiting schedule to avoid him.

            He met Stiles in the supermarket once with Scott beside him. Scott was thrilled to finally talk to the famous Mr. Hale but it was obvious he didn’t know the details of what had happened between Derek and Stiles. After a few obvious lines, Derek realised with horror that Scott was trying to push the two of them together. He was just trying to do right by his friend but Derek could see the agony it was causing Stiles, so made his excuses and bolted down the frozen food aisle. Either Scott hadn’t noticed how reserved his friend was being or had mistaken it for embarrassment. Derek noticed. Derek noticed every second of it. 

            For a week or two Derek tried to spark up some kind of virtual relationship, sending Stiles texts to check up on him. The odd comment about the latest game, or asking if he’d watched the new Christopher Nolan film. He just wanted to make sure Stiles is doing okay, he told himself over and over. There was nothing more to it than that. No ulterior motives. Just being friendly with the guy. Perhaps if he still felt too awkward to speak in person Stiles would find it easier to talk via words on a screen but after a few weeks of nothing but one word answers sent after hours of delay Derek took the hint and gave up, finally conceding that Stiles just did not want Derek to be in his life as anything more than his brother’s history teacher. Derek didn’t know which one hurt more. The rejection or the absence of Stiles.

 

*****

 

            “That pass was bullshit!” Bobby screamed at the TV, jumping up from Derek’s couch to articulate at the screen more efficiently.

            “No it wasn’t,” Harris said lazily.

            “Oh shut up!” slurred Bobby drunkenly. “Back me up on this Derek. Was that pass, or was that pass not, bullshit?”

            “I can’t really make out the ball anymore,” said Derek sleepily.

            Derek was drunk. It took a lot to get Derek drunk. After Laura’s death he’d spent many weekends finding out just how much it took to get him drunk but it had just been a phase of his grief. He rarely drank anymore, unless he was out looking to score and he hadn’t done that since Stiles, who he totally was not thinking about. Not at all.

            Today was Thanksgiving and so Derek felt it was completely legitimate that he had been drinking beer since breakfast, starting on the Jack Daniel’s when Bobby arrived at lunchtime. The two of them were now lolling around on the couch, alternating between lethargy, abusive rage at the football players and amusement as they ganged up to annoy Harris who had been sober for five years and wasn’t about to break the habit for a pair of drunken idiots.

            “I can’t believe I’m spending Thanksgiving with you two in the world’s most depressing apartment. Again.”

            “Hey!” said Derek, wanting to defend his sister’s home but not being able to find the words. “Shush.”

            “Who gives a shit about the duck- the dec- the day- the décor. Look at that TV! Look at it! It’s a thing of beauty! A thing of wonder! If I could, I think I would marry Derek’s TV.”

            “You can’t, she’s mine,” said Derek, shoving Bobby away from him sending a pile of chicken bones scattering over the floor.

            It was becoming a bit of a tradition, the three of them together on Thanksgiving. None of them had any family left, or at least none they cared to make the effort to visit, so they all gathered at Derek’s apartment to watch crappy movies and stupid parades, then yell at the football. There was no point cooking a turkey for the three of them, so they ordered in chicken wings from the only place in town open on Thanksgiving, got drunk and ate pie. It wasn’t your typical way to spend the day but it wasn’t a bad one either.

            This was the third time the three of them had spent Thanksgiving together. Three times three, Derek thought. A trinity. A triskele. Oh god. Was that what his tattoo had grown to be? Him, Bobby and Harris. Bitter and angry at the world for not recognising their mediocrity? Derek didn’t know where he’d wanted his life to take him when he’d been little, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t to here.

            “I need to take a leak,” Derek announced. “And then more beer.”

            “Yes,” said Bobby. “Beer! Bobby needs more beer. Bring Bobby beer.”

            “I need better friends,” said Harris.

            After a jaunt to the bathroom, Derek crossed to the kitchen and rummaged around in the fridge to find the coldest bottle there was, having to steady himself against the cabinet when his phone buzzed. He was wearing his loose fitting sweat pants, knowing they were called for on a day like today. The phone had gotten twisted up in the pocket and he nearly fell over once or twice trying to get it out.

            He nearly fell over again when he saw the picture of Stiles goofily pointing out at him. It took a second for him to realise that Stiles must have sent him a text. Today. On Thanksgiving.

            Derek had been trying really hard not to think of Stiles, which was always going to be a losing battle. The harder he tried not to, the more often Stiles came to mind. Shaking the memory of his body out of his head every time it popped up was beginning to become second nature to Derek though. He thought about leaving the text to later, but it would be rude not to reply, wouldn’t it. He should definitely at least give it a read. It was the polite thing to do.

            _Heeeeeey, Derk!!!! Hop you are having a good Thanksgiving! Be home to your sleeves!_

Be home to your sleeves? Derek frowned at it, his drunk brain unable to decode the text that must have come from an equally drunk brain, judging from the number of exclamation points. He tapped the words into the reply box and quickly realised it was supposed to read ‘be good to yourself’.

            Derek didn’t know how that was supposed to make him feel. A part of him was happy to hear back from Stiles again, to know Stiles was thinking about him on a day like today and hadn’t just cut him out of his life all together. Another part of Derek was angry. Stiles obviously didn’t want to have anything to do with Derek, but now he was sending him Thanksgiving messages? And not just the mass, send to everyone in your contacts list messages. This one had been written especially for Derek. How was he supposed to read into that? Was he supposed to read into that? Was Stiles just the type of person who sent everyone personalised messages?

            ‘ _Stop obsessing Derek_ ,’ he told himself. ‘ _Obsessing will get you nowhere when Stiles decides to forget you again.’_

            It was, however, only polite to send Stiles a reply. He didn’t think about it, just wrote and hit send before he could regret it.

            _Same to you. Don’t get tooo drunk._

            Derek realised too late that there were only two ‘o’s in too, but eh. Stiles would probably find it amusing, if he even noticed. The phone was halfway back to Derek’s pocket when it buzzed again and once more Stiles face graced his screen. The text this time was only three words long.

            _I miss you._

He blinked. A long hard blink, as if if he blinked hard enough time and space would warp to a different dimension where he hadn’t just read that. It didn’t work. The words were still on the screen when he opened his eyes again.

            What the actual fuck? Stiles ignores and pushes him away for two weeks and then, what? He sends a message like that! What did it mean? Was he saying that he wished he could be with Derek despite his brother’s anger? Was he just drunk and horny? Suddenly Derek felt a rush of apprehension he knew he shouldn’t be feeling. He’d resolved to leave Stiles alone. That was obviously what Stiles wanted so that’s what he was going to do. He was a one night stand after all… wasn’t he? Oh fuck. When did this all get so fucking complicated? Why did he have to choose now, after god knows how many years, to start having feelings and emotions again? He’s me Stiles a handful of times. He should not be obsessing like this. 

            “Derek! Where is the beer?”

            “And pie! For the love of god bring me pie!” cried Harris.

            Snapping back into the moment, Derek shut down his phone and grabbed the pie and beer. He was too drunk for this shit right now. He’d worry about Stiles when he was sober. He settled down on the couch and shouted at his friends every time they asked him what was bugging him so much as he tried to forget about the text in his pocket and concentrate on the game. 

            He failed.

 

*****

 

            The library was one of Derek’s favourite places. It was embarrassingly stereotypical but it was true. It got him out from between they grey walls of his apartment, it was close enough to walk, he could pretty much guarantee that he wouldn’t see any students there unless it was time to do some big project and the internet had suddenly imploded, and it was quiet. Derek liked quiet. He’d always had sensitive hearing. It came in useful when he was invigilating a test, but most of the time it just made his head hurt.

            Derek was of an age that the internet had blossomed over his childhood. When he was in elementary school no one had ever really heard of it. By middle school it was a status symbol of the class room to have a dial up modem and all the kids would beg their parents to let them have even half an hour a night. When he finished high-school the teachers all assumed you had broadband and set their assignments accordingly. 

            The Hale house had not had broadband, or a modem, and Derek hadn’t even had an email address until he got to college. His family had lived on the edge of the woods and there was no way they could get a connection up there but even if they’d been able to they probably wouldn’t have done. They enjoyed spending time outside in the sunshine and Peter had instilled his love of books into his young nephew from an early age. Derek still didn’t see the point of the internet, though he did have a connection, if only to check for plagiarism on any suspiciously well worded homework assignments. If he wanted to do research for a topic at school, he’d go and use the books in the library. Sure, the internet might give you the most up to date information but Derek was a _history_ teacher. How ‘up to date’ could something that happened three hundred years ago be?

            Derek loved to stroll along the racks, picking up books that looked interesting. Today he picked up a book because the cover looked vaguely familiar. He ran his fingers along the edge where the pages were nicked and buckled from where book marks had been pressed into it and realised it was one of the books that he’d seen in Stiles room.

            Damn. He’d been doing so well. Time to return to the history section.

            After several hours of refreshing his brain on some of the intricacies of the Pearl Harbor bombings, Derek was in severe need of a coffee. He drank too much of the stuff but as vices went it wasn’t too bad. It was seven pm on a Thursday and the usual place he went to had shut up two hours ago. There was another place just down the street that was opened late, the kind of place where they ran poetry slams and got in jazz musicians, which was why Derek didn’t usually go there. The walls were adorned with abstract paintings that probably held some deep insight on the human soul that Derek couldn’t be bothered to understand, though he did think the colours looked nice but it was a bit too pretentious for his tastes. He preferred his pleasures simple and unembellished.

            Today there was a woman sat behind a keyboard, a failed attempt to bring in more custom seeing as the place was half empty. She informed the crowd that her next song was about some boy she’d had a crush on in high school who played jazz piano. She had a pretty voice that lilted over the words and Derek found himself getting distracted listening to her singing about how _‘the boy at the piano played on’._ In his mind he imagined the girl the woman had once been, spying on the boy in the corridor and thinking of him while she wrote this song. Did he know she’d written it? That she still played it all these years later. He couldn’t even remember the girls he’d crushed on in school. They’d all been burned from his memory after Kate. All he could remember of dating Jen was comfortable, but bland and the rest had all been a blur of meaningless sex.

There was a cough from behind the counter and he turned to see Stiles staring at him.

            For a moment Derek went blank. Then he felt the rush of uneasy heat pass over him as he remembered every second he’d spent with Stiles in full detail. The weeks of flirtation, the night of passion, the painful rejection he’d just been starting to get over.

            “Hey Derek. Can I take your order?”

            Stiles looked bored. No, not bored. Tired. It had been a month since they’d slept together. The darkness under Stiles’ eyes was blacker than Derek had ever seen and he was noticeably skinnier. It showed in his face, the way his cheekbones seemed so prominent now, making the shadows seem all the darker.

            “Order? Derek?” said Stiles flatly.

            Derek couldn’t tell if Stiles was pissed at him, apathetic or just dog tired. The later seemed true either way. 

            “Uh, hey. Guess I found your third job after all,” said Derek, trying to break the tension.

            “Congratulations,” said Stiles. Definitely an edge of pissed in that one. “Do you want a coffee or were you just here as part of some scavenger hunt? There is a line behind you so if you could hurry it up…”

            “Oh,” said Derek, “right. Just a straight up black coffee, no sugar.”

            “Coming right up.”

            Stiles turned away to brew up Derek’s coffee.

            “So, uh, how you been? I’ve not heard from you since Thanksgiving.”

            Stiles turned back sharply and slammed the coffee cup on the counter. He’d put it in a take-out cup just to hammer home his point even further so Derek paid silently and left, still too stunned to even say goodbye.

            What had he done to deserve that? 

            It wasn’t like he’d been the one sending out needy text messages on Thanksgiving, just when Derek was getting over the rejection. Nope. That had been Stiles. Derek had sent him an all-purpose _What’s up_ text the next day and received the customary perfunctory answer so had backed off again. Derek had given Stiles space when he needed and then Stiles had the audacity to dismiss him like... like he was no one. Like he’d seen countless girls in school dismiss the annoying boys who panted over them. He didn’t deserve that. All Derek had ever done was try to look out for Stiles and now he was being tossed aside like one of the scrawny loser kids? If anyone here had a right to be pissed off in this situation, it was Derek.

            He began to storm off, ready to walk home in fire of righteous fury but his path lead him back behind the coffee shop where Stiles was apparently taking out the trash. He had paused for a second, leaning against the dumpster to catch his breath away from irate customers but there was one irate customer who was about to give Stiles a piece of his mind!

            “What the hell is wrong with you?” Derek asked, striding over. 

            Stiles spun on him, face blank with shock.

            “Derek?”

            “I mean seriously? What the hell did I do to you?”

            Stiles ran his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes as if that could eradicate weeks of not sleeping.

`           “I don’t know what you’re talking about Derek.”

            “What was that just now? In the coffee shop?”

            “That was me doing one of my three jobs.”

            Stiles turned back to the dumpster and began to throw in the bags that were piled on the floor.

            “No. No it wasn’t. All I have ever wanted to do was make sure you’re okay which you are obviously not. Have you seen yourself recently? You look like shit, Stiles. Is that such a crime? Am I not allowed to worry ab-”

            “Oh my god Derek,” said Stiles turning on him. “You were a _fuck!_ A good fuck, a much needed fuck, but just a fuck. You were a one night stand that maybe might have turned into a two or three night stand to try and shift some of the stress. You are not my boyfriend. We are not friends. We’re barely even acquaintances. When are you going to take the fucking hint and back off?”

            Half a dozen retorts formed in Derek’s head but they all fell short of his tongue. What was this kid’s problem? Derek wasn’t asking to pick out wedding rings. He was just offering himself as a friend.

            “Don’t worry,” he bit out, hands held up defensively as he walked away, “message received loud and clear. So sorry that my concern for your welfare was so irritating to you. I’ll be sure not to bother in future.”

            Derek stormed off in a determined rage, dumping his coffee in the dumpster as he left and changed his course to swing by the liquor store. Screw coffee. Who the fuck cared it was a school night. Derek needed vodka.

 

*****

 

            “I can’t believe I let my guard down for that guy!” Derek yelled at his uncle the next day. “I’m telling you. I’m not going to let it happen again. Nope. I am not letting any douchebag that close to me ever again. I should have learned my lesson with Kate.”

            Derek paced across the hospital room, hands on his hips as his uncle was sat up in his chair, vacant eyes staring out the window. He was having one of his awake days. Sometimes Peter would open his eyes but it never got any further than that. Derek and Laura had been so excited the first time it happened. Now it just felt like he was being taunted. It made talking to his uncle a little less odd. Derek could pretend that Peter was listening, imagine the quips he would make in reply to whatever fool thing Derek had said this time. Today it left him free to rant away.

            “I was just a fuck. _I was just a fuck?_ Is it really so goddamn terrible to just want a ‘Thanks for the concern Derek. I’m fine’? Does that make me a terrible person?”

            Derek walked over to the window as if looking at whatever it was that captivated his uncle’s attention so much.

            “Why do I even care? He was just a fuck too. Just a fuck. So it was a fuck I’d been thinking about for a while, I didn’t think we were going to get married or anything. Sure it would have been nice to spend more time with the guy, but- fuck, this isn’t helping. I’m so goddamn pissed off at him!”

            He looked down at Peter staring off into the distance.

            “At least you don’t have to deal with this bullshit, all this human fucking relationship crap. The nurses will always be around to look after you, so you’ll be fine. I’ll still come and see you because you’re the only fucking family I have left and this is slightly less insane than talking to myself.”

            Derek slumped down on the windowsill and placed his hands on the arms of Peter’s chair, either side of his uncle. The only family he had left. The only thing in the world that meant a damn thing to him anymore was Peter, a comatose shell of a human being. Was it so bad to have maybe wanted something more with Stiles? Just a glimmer of some kind of deeper human connection. He knew he’d not been the only one to feel that. Friends. That’s all he’d wanted to be. To give each other the companionship they both so badly needed and Stiles threw it all back in his face. 

            “Why can’t you talk to me?” Derek asked. “Come on. Just this once. Just make some sassy comment that’ll piss me off but make me laugh all the same. Fuck just blink at me, let me know you’re still in there. Tell me it’s not just me. Tell me I’m not alone.”

            His voice cracked at the end. He was not going to cry. Not in front of Peter. Not over someone as meaningless as Stiles. Derek looked at Peter’s face for a good long while, looking for some sign. Nothing. Peter just looked out the window, his melted face vacant and blank. Derek stepped away from him and walked towards the door.

            “Why can’t you just be here?”

            

*****

 

            Bobby Finnstock hit the grass of the lacrosse pitch, a white ball barrelling over his head as he used his own stick to protect his face.

            “Alright! Alright! I get it! You are a better player than I am!” he said.

            Derek said nothing as he scooped up the next ball with his foot. Cradling it back and forth a few times before throwing his arm and hurling it at Bobby so it missed his head by inches as he stood back up.

            “Jesus Christ Derek. Do I need to go put a helmet on? I can’t tell if your aim is really good, or you actually meant to concuss me and missed.”

            Derek grunted, neither in affirmation nor denial. This was Bobby’s idea. His bad mood had stretched out for over a week now. Mr. Hale’s ‘angry mode’ was famous throughout Beacon Hills, the bad days when he chose to take out his dark mood on his students but it usually only lasted until lunch. This time it was running on and on, bleeding into all facets of his life. He’d actually made the janitor scream and run out the room when he’d been in the school late grading papers. He’d full on growled at a student the other day, a deep rumble of annoyance that sent the kid scampering off like a frightened squirrel. The kids had started calling him ‘The Wolf’ after that, and it was then that Bobby decided to try taking to Derek.

            Big mistake.

            Derek did not want to talk. Derek rarely _wanted_ to talk. What he wanted to do right now was shout and hit things, and if Bobby Finnstock was going to present himself for target practice then Derek was not about to stop him.

            “Fuck!” Bobby said as Derek’s latest throw hit him in the hip.

            He let the stick drop to the ground as Finnstock hobbled around.

            “Jog it off Bobby, jog it off,” he said to himself bouncing on the spot though it obviously pained him.

            “You let your guard down,” said Derek.

            “Let my guard down? I thought we were out here for a friendly game of catch but you start treating me like a training hoop! Fuck man, I think you broke my hip. I can’t have a broken hip. I’m too young and too handsome to have a broken hip.”

            Grunting Derek walked over to grab a drink of water from his gym bag. He wasn’t in the mood to make come backs to Bobby’s inane remarks. He just slumped down on the bench by the side of the field. He knew Bobby was trying to cheer him up, but it wasn’t because he actually cared that Derek felt like crap. They weren’t those kinds of friends. They were the friends you got drunk with and never, ever, talked about things like feelings with. Superficial friends. Bobby just wanted Derek to stop yelling at everyone, that was all he cared. There were times he barely tolerated his work friends, Harris in particular, but he put up with them because what else did he have? It hadn’t really bothered him before now. He hadn’t needed any deeper friends.

            “Do you at least feel better for probably permanently taking me out of the game?” asked Bobby.

            “When was the last time you played a game of lacrosse?” Derek asked bitterly.

            “No need to turn your bitch fit on me,” Bobby said sitting on the bench beside Derek. “I’m a coach. I don’t need to be able to actually play the game. I need to be able to shout at a bunch of teenagers and tell them how _not_ to play the game.”

            They sat in silence for a moment, Derek idly twirling the stick about in his hands. The last time he’d been out to the pitch had been to rake Isaac over the coals for getting high.

            Fuck. 

            There was Stiles again, in his head and a new wave of… of something took over him. Sorrow and a sense of loss drowned out in a sea of anger. Anger was easier to deal with. Derek had learnt how to deal with the anger. Impotent rage was so much better than facing the loss. It was a trick he’d learned when his family died.

            A new rush of anger hit, this time aimed at himself. How could he possibly have just compared Stiles, a meaningless one night stand, to the death of his family. Were they really becoming that distant to him? He held onto the anger. Let it drown out the guilt and the sadness. 

            Snatching up the stick, Derek ran to the pile of balls and quickly picked them up, flinging them into the net one after the other using every muscle he could to propel them with the most force he could muster. On the last one he let out a frustrated yell and stalked back to the bench. 

            “You okay there dude?” asked Finnstock.

            He was leaning away from Derek on the bench. Derek didn’t look at him, instead he wiped the sweat from off of his brow with the back of his hand as he stood up.

            “Yeah I’m fine. Come on.”

            “No. You aren’t. Sit down. Shut up and tell me what’s bothering you because there is no way in hell I am getting back up to have you throw balls at 100mph at my head. I like my head. It’s where all my smart ass comes from.”

            Derek sat back down heavily, fiddling with the strings of the cradle while fighting within himself until he blurted it out.

            “It’s nothing.”

            “Well that’s a lie,” said Bobby.

            “No. It really is. It’s nothing. Now.”

            “Oh,” said Bobby. “Girl trouble.”

            “Something like that,” said Derek. “It’s over now. Really, really over. Hell, it never even really started.”

            Derek pulled at the strings of the stick so hard that one of them snapped and he threw the damn thing on the ground.

            “Okay,” said Bobby slowly, gently nudging the stick out of Derek’s reach with his foot. “Well at least this one ended in a metaphorical car crash rather than a literal one.”

            Slowly, Derek turned his head to his friend. Why was he friends with this man again? The man who just made a joke about the crash that _killed his whole family._

            “You’re a jackass Bobby,” he settled on.

            “Yup,” said Bobby patting him on the shoulder. “But you’re stuck with me.”

            With a sigh Derek accepted Bobby was right. He didn’t have enough people in his life to pick and choose. At least he meant well, even if his methods were mostly to just ridicule Derek into feeling better. And he didn’t pity Derek. Ever.

            “This isn’t working,” said Derek. He’d hoped that doing something physical would help him but it hadn’t worked last night at the gym and it wasn’t working now. Time to fall back on the old staple. “Wanna get drunk instead.”

            “It’s a school night. I thought getting drunk was mandatory. How else are you going to deal with the little shits in the morning?”

            Derek at least managed a grin to that one. He was still far from back to normal after the Stiles shitstorm, but sometimes being black out drunk was just as good.

 

*****

 

            Derek was hung over. The kind of hung over that invades every part of your body, from core of your brain down to your aching toes and every part in between, and he was stuck in his classroom, trying to grunt his way through the Cuban missile crisis to a bunch of kids. They were keeping quiet and behaving on an unprecedented level, terrified of doing something wrong and awakening the beast within him. It was only making him more angry. Every chair squeak and quiet cough seemed to raise his ire, and the scratch of pen on paper was making him nauseous all over again. He should have learned by now that the second Bobby Finnstock makes the suggestion ‘ _Tequila?_ ’ that is the time to stop and go home.

            When the bell rang it felt like his skull was ringing with it. He didn’t bother to dismiss the class. They should know what to do by now but there was always one…

            “Umm. Mr. Hale?”

            Derek looked up slowly, ready to unleash The Wolf at whoever dared disturb his slumber. Isaac was standing quietly in front of him. He was clinging onto the strap of his bag, picking at a loose thread nervously. His eyes flitting back and forth to the open door. Derek had noticed that Isaac was slowly working his way out from the corner desk, sitting slightly further forward in class, taking more notes and paying closer attention but when Derek realised he was noticing, he stopped paying it attention. He did, however, make sure that Isaac’s assignments were handed back with as much useful feedback as he could think to write. For Isaac’s sake, he told himself. Nothing to do with Stiles. Nothing at all.

            “What?” said Derek, returning his attention down again.

            “I was wondering if you could help me go through my assignment from last week,” he said. 

            “I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Derek said blandly. “Go talk to Ms. Blake if you have an issue. She’s an English teacher, she can help you work out how to structure an essay.”

            “Uh. Okay. I’ll do that. She’s been helping me out with my spelling and stuff so I’m sure she won’t mind. I had that meeting you scheduled, with the advisor. You were right about the being dyslexic thing. Umm… they’re teaching me ways to cope with it so… thanks for that.”

            Derek’s hand paused before reaching over for the bottle of water he kept on the desk.

            “I noticed,” said Derek. “It’s already beginning to show in your work.”

            Isaac nodded a few times, hesitating for a moment before starting towards to door. It was a whole two steps before he doubled back and stood in front of Derek, leaning over the desk so he could lower his voice.

            “I know it’s not my place to say anything but do you think you could date Stiles again?”

            Derek stopped. He looked up at Isaac’s big blue eyes and could see the concern there. Derek just rolled his neck and leaned back in his chair.

            “He and I were never dating Isaac. It was more-”

            “Y’gah!” Isaac said, recoiling in disgust. “Please. Stop. I don’t need to know. I know… I know I reacted like a complete idiot. I was mad. I thought that maybe Stiles would be angry or embarrassed and then he’d get over it.”

            Isaac was feeling guilty, that much was obvious. Or was he simply trying to tame The Wolf?

            “He did get over it,” said Derek. “He has made that much abundantly clear.”

            Isaac looked back up at him and shook his head slowly.

            “That’s not true. I don’t know what he said to you get him to break up with him-”

            “I didn’t break up with him,” said Derek. “You need to be in a relationship to break up with someone. All I did was ask how he was and he threw it back in my face. He let me know exactly how little I mean to him.”

            “Yeah, because I told him to!” said Isaac. “I didn’t want my brother dating my teacher so I told him to break it off.”

            “Which he had no problem in doing. At all.”

            “No! He had a problem with it. He hated blowing you off all the time. I could always tell when he got a text from you because he’d not look at me and then go spend twenty minutes in another room working out what he was going to say. Or when you called he’d just let the phone ring and ring until you hung up, saying ‘ _it wasn’t important’_ but he never took his eyes off his phone.”

            “Like hell he did,” said Derek. “You’re just trying to stop me from being a grumpy assed teacher so I’ll stop grading so harshly.”

            “No I’m not! I’m saying this because Stiles is in pain and it’s all my fault. I thought he’d be angry about it and move on but he’s not. I could have dealt with it if he’d blown up in my face, I’ve dealt with worse, but he didn’t because he knows that I have. He’s just… sad. Like all the time. And it got so much worse the same time you started being angry all the time. He started… actually he didn’t start anything. He stopped. He stopped going out, stopped wanting to play Call of Duty, stopped even _trying_ to have fun. He just sits around the house and zones out. It’s like he’s not even there anymore.” Isaac sniffed, his eyes already red rimmed. “I asked him why he wasn’t more pissed at me for breaking you two up and do you know what he said?”

            Derek shook his head.

            “He told me,” said Isaac brushing away a tear, “he didn’t want to feel any worse than he already did by having to yell at his brother.”

            Derek suddenly wanted to give Isaac at least a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He looked like he needed it and from the sounds of it Stiles probably wouldn’t have been very forth coming with the hugs these past few weeks. But they were at school and it was Isaac and just no. He tried for understanding instead.

            “Isaac. I know you think that this is all your fault but it’s not. Stiles didn’t just reject me because of something you said. He rejected me because he didn’t want that kind of relationship. It’s not because you objected, it’s because his life is too complicated right now to have a relationship. With anyone. He has to concentrate on his jobs and you and your Dad and not driving himself into the ground. One of the first things he said to me when this all started was that he didn’t have time for a boyfriend. I know things could have gone down better but this scenario was never going to end with us dating, even if you had never been in the picture.”

            Isaac nodded, brushing away his tears with his sleeve now he’d calmed down a bit more. Derek could tell the kid didn’t believe him, not completely, but he’d needed to hear it all the same.

            “I know he wants to date you,” said Issac. “All that stuff you said might be true but that doesn’t stop the fact that he wants to. I know he does. I told him that it was okay, I didn’t care, but he thinks he’s blown it, that you won’t have anything to do with him.”

            Isaac looked to Derek, searching his face to see if it was true, if Stiles had blown it. Derek avoided his gaze, not even knowing the answer himself.

            “Just think it over. Please,” said Isaac standing back from the desk. “Seriously, whatever he said the other week, he didn’t mean it. Not really. I told him to call you again, but he said he’s already hurt you enough, thinks that he’s not worth the trouble but he is. He likes you. He likes you a whole lot. Before the time I… the thing in the kitchen he’d been talking about this great guy he’d met that he wanted to ask out.”

            “He had,” Derek asked.

            A smile touched the corners of Isaac’s mouth, a slight edge of cocky but if he’d thought he’d won that easily he didn’t know Derek Hale.

            “He lit up when he talked about you. Kept coming up with these elaborate seduction tactics he was going to try that were totally going to fail. I thought it was weird at the time how he’d never give me any details about who you were. But all things considered…”

            Isaac looked down at his fingers, self-conscious again.

            “You should go,” said Derek thoughtfully. “You’re late for class already.”

            The boy nodded mutely and began to walk away before turning back at the door .

            “You were right before, I should be grateful. He’s given up everything for me. He shouldn’t have to give up the things he loves.”

            “He said that?” Derek said suddenly.

            Isaac turned back to him.

            “No. But he will. If you let him.”

            The boy left, closing the door behind him. Derek sat at his desk head reeling as he reprocessed every interaction of the last couple of weeks. 

            Why could him and Stiles never get things straight the first time round? The only time he and Stiles had ever been on the same page was that one night. The rest of the time it was like they weren’t in the same damn library!

            Derek fisted his hands into his hair and thought about what the hell he was going to do. By the time the freshman class had come into his room he was still no closer to working out how he really felt.

            

*****

 

            Derek didn’t text Stiles. Not for a day or two. He would spend minutes looking at his phone, planning the texts in his head even getting so far as to type out the first few words before his fingers forgot how to spell. He threw his phone half way across the table and tried to think about something else but it didn’t work.

            _Hey Stiles…_

Too friendly. He was trying to get Stiles to talk to him after a screaming match in a back ally. You couldn’t just start like you were asking if he wanted to go to the movies on Saturday. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to talk to Stiles yet but stupid Isaac Lahey’s emotional blackmail had gotten under his skin.

_Hello…_

Nope. Still not right.

_Greetings…_

            Oh for god’s sake.

            _Hi._

There. Fuck it. That would do.

            _I was wondering if you wanted to talk about what happened the other day._

Too formal. It sounded like something he’d send to his boss.

            _I talked to Isaac._

Should he bring Isaac into this? He had said that the two of them had talked about it. No. This was about the two of them. Mentioning Isaac would just reopen those wounds.

            _We need to talk about this._

He’s sent that one a hundred times before the shouting match and it hadn’t got him anywhere.

            _Stop overthinking this Derek,_ he told himself _. Just say what you want to say and hit send._ But what did he want to say? What did he want? He’d been thinking about it ever since Isaac had cornered him after class. Stiles had been lashing out because of Isaac but the things he’d said still hurt Derek. He shouldn’t be the one breaking the ice. That should be Stiles, he was the one in the wrong here, but he wasn’t going to anything anytime soon. 

            Derek imagined Stiles sat at home in front of the TV with a warm beer in his hand, lost and alone. Stiles would do anything for those he loved. In the short time he’d known him, Derek could see that. Stiles would give up and sacrifice so that his family was safe, even if that meant that he had to give up the things he really wanted in life.

            There was a constant doubt in the back of Derek’s mind though. How much of what Stiles had said at the coffee shop had been true? _Had_ Derek just been a fuck buddy? That’s what Derek thought they were getting involved in. On some level, he realised now, he’d always been hoping for more. Even though he’d thought one thing, he’d wanted something completely different. But what did Stiles want? For that matter what actually did _Derek_ want? As much as he’d once been attracted to Stiles, was it worth all of this?

            Derek stared down at the screen and tapped out three little words.

            _I miss you._

 He looked at them on the screen for a good five minutes. He set his phone down, went to make dinner, picked it up and looked at it again. Went to the bath room, took a shower, looked at the screen again.

            Then he deleted it and went to bed.

 

*****

 

            Derek knew Stiles wasn’t going to be the one to break their purgatory. Even if Isaac had told him every word of their conversation in the class room Stiles wouldn’t do anything. The worst part of this whole situation was that Stiles didn’t seem to think that his own happiness was part of the equation. He cut out Derek for Isaac’s sake and now, apparently, he was refusing to pick up the damn phone because he didn’t want to hurt Derek. It was that that annoyed Derek the most. Derek was a big boy! If his feelings got hurt he could deal with that but he deserved the goddamn right to be a part of this decision. It was his life too! 

            Which was how he ended up back in that fucking hipster coffee shop looking for Stiles. A text just wasn’t going to cut it. He needed to look Stiles in the eye and force that man to talk this thing out if it killed them both.

            Fully psyched up he walked in and looked for Stiles. The place was empty apart from a homeless looking guy in the corner. Derek was pretty sure he was actually homeless rather than a hipster. It was the kind of place where it was hard to tell, but the barista came up and gave him a muffin saying it was going stale so it was on the house. The woman was slightly older than the usual crowd who worked in places like this, probably the owner.

            He carried on looking around the place. No Stiles. No sign that there would be a Stiles anytime soon. Eventually the barista walked up to Derek herself.

            “Is everything alright sir?” she asked.

            “Uh, yeah. I was looking for a friend of mine. Stiles Stilinski?”

            The woman looked apologetically at him.

            “Sorry sir, I can’t help you. I had to let Stiles go. He was a great kid but business isn’t so good at the moment, as you can see,” she gestured around the empty seating area. “I had to let him go.”

            “Oh,” said Derek. “Oh, okay.”

            “Do you need to get a message to him?” she said, eyeing up Derek with suspicion. What kind of friend was Derek that didn’t know Stiles had been fired?

            “No I can… its okay. Um, can I get a black coffee and a muffin to go?”

            He didn’t really want the coffee or the muffin but he felt slightly guilty that this woman who gave free food to homeless people wasn’t able to keep her business afloat. In the back of his mind he heard Finnstock telling him that maybe if she stopped giving out free muffins she would be able to keep her business afloat without having to lay off her workers but Bobby was an idiot so Derek ignored him.

            He thanked her and went to go sit in his car and think, the smell of coffee wrapping itself around him. No wonder Stiles had been so testy that day. He must have known he was about to lose his job, a job he badly needed, and in comes his one night stand yelling at him about treating him like a stranger. Isaac was wrong. Stiles wasn’t depressed because of Derek, or because of some big breakup on his part, but because he’d lost his job. Stiles had bigger things on his mind to worry about than a relationship with someone as messed up as Derek was himself. If he ever saw Stiles again, he would apologise and leave him be. That would be the end of it.

            It wasn’t until then, when he made the resolution to leave Stiles alone forever, that he realised how much he’d been hoping things would go a different way.

 

*****

 

            By the next week, Derek felt his life was returning to normalcy. His students were more relaxed in his class now, confident that he wasn’t going to yell at any of them for no reason, though as he watched them file into the classroom they looked at him warily, jerking their eyes away if his should happen to meet theirs. Looking back, Derek was increasingly certain that that had been Isaac’s gambit all along, trying to calm The Wolf. He wasn’t trying to get his brother a boyfriend at all, he was trying to calm the raging teacher who was making everyone’s life hell. Derek couldn’t blame him.

            As he thought of Isaac, he realised he wasn’t in class. Even when everyone else was settled there was a desk that was conspicuously vacant.

            “Where’s Lahey?” he asked to Erica quietly as the class settled down. Please god, don’t be back out under the bleachers. Isaac had come too far to fall back now.

            “You didn’t hear?” she said. “It was all over the radio this morning. Everyone’s been talking about it.”

            Concern coiled in Derek’s stomach, tightening and constricting him.

            “What happened, is he okay.”

            “Yeah, I’d say he’s okay. His Dad woke up out of the coma. Him and his brother have been at the hospital all day.”

            Derek looked hard at her.

            Stiles’ Dad was okay. He was awake. He was fine. Suddenly Derek wanted to tell the whole class they were dismissed and burn rubber over to the hospital. He wanted to be there with Stiles, to hug him in shared joy and wipe away his happy tears. No. He told himself. This didn’t change anything. His resolution to leave Stiles still stood. 

            He didn’t even run to the hospital the second the final bell went, no matter how much he wanted to. It was Wednesday, the day he visited Peter, so he was going to go, but only after he’d finished up the end of term display on the notice boards. Just a normal day.

            Outside the hospital there were a few reporters and news vans. The Sheriff’s shooting had been big news when it had happened so the Sheriff’s recovery was a nice fluff piece for them to round of the story with. Derek had to wait until a nurse who recognised him let him through to even get into the ward. There were police everywhere but that was more likely due to their boss waking up out of a coma than anything else. They eyed Derek cautiously when he glanced into the room as he strolled by. He could only make out Isaac and a man he thought might be Scott. 

            Derek went in to talk to his uncle. He chatted away at his uncle’s still form, jumping from topic to topic, broken thoughts and half-finished sentences that all danced around the issue of the man in the room next to him.

            Eventually he’d managed to ramble through everything that had happened that week. He bade his uncle good night and began to make his journey home. He lifted his head to peek round the door of the Sheriff’s room, it would be rude not to, but was determined to keep walking past. The Sheriff was okay. That was a good thing.

            “Hey! Mr. Hale,” called Isaac.

            Derek’s feet stuttered on the floor. Isaac was beckoning him in and there was no way he could run without coming across as an utter asshole. He ducked into the room, earning himself a few curious looks from the cops outside. Inside Issac, Scott and Nurse McCall were gathered around the Sheriff’s bedside. He was sitting up slightly, his eyes open even if they didn’t seem able to focus properly. He was most definitely awake and alert though.

            Derek tapped nervously on the glass to make his presence known. Isaac smiled brightly, grabbing the Sheriff’s hand.

            “Hey Dad! This is Mr .Hale, my history teacher. Stiles and I told you all about him when you were asleep.”

            “Most people call me Derek,” he said with a stilted little wave. “My uncle is your neighbour.”

            “Deeeeeeeeeerrr…” the Sheriff slurred.

            “Shh, John,” said Scott’s Mom patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t try to speak yet. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Just take it all in for now.”

            The Sheriff blinked his eyes slowly in lieu of a nod.

            “Mr. Hale was helping get my essays right, Dad. He was the one who got me into my special lessons so I could deal with my dyslexia. Do you remember me talking about that while you were sleeping?”

            The Sheriff frowned, as if trying to remember.

            “You need to give him time to process everything Isaac,” said Scott laughing. “He’s just woken up after having his brains literally scrambled. It’ll take a while for him to get everything straight again.”

            Derek saw the look of momentary distress on Isaac’s face. The Sheriff might be alive and conscious but there was still a long way to go before he was a walking, talking member of society again, if he was ever going to be.

            “He’ll be okay,” said Derek calmly.

            Isaac nodded quietly then looked around distractedly.

            “Where is Stiles?”

            The others looked around as if he’d suddenly appear from behind the potted plant, but Derek had clocked that Stiles wasn’t in the room the second that he walked into it. The question that Isaac had just asked had been screaming behind his lips since then.

            “He went to go take a breather or get coffee or something but that was like twenty minutes ago,” said Scott’s Mom.

            “I’ll go look for him,” said Scott stepping forward.

            Isaac’s hand shot out, holding Scott back.

            “Mr. Hale,” he said, “would you mind looking for my brother, if you’re not too busy. I think he’d like to talk to you.”

            The other occupants of the room looked curiously at the two of them, even the Sheriff somehow managed it. Derek just mutely nodded.

            “Sure. I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

            Derek walked off towards the coffee machines but saw no sign of Stiles. He walked down to the cafeteria on the first floor and even swung by the chapel but could see no sign of him until his eye caught on a flash of red out the window. There was a small garden where patients and family could sit and relax. A place where it didn’t smell like hospital. Sitting on a bench beside an overgrown shrub was Stiles. Derek didn’t go to him straight away, instead choosing to watch him through the glass like some exhibit at a museum. Stiles was facing away from him, staring up at the sky. He was wearing a red hoody that he kept pulling tight about himself, bringing his hands up to his face to blow on them.

             Stiles didn’t turn to look when Derek opened the door. It was freezing outside, the kind of cold that stung your skin and quickly got underneath it to your bones. Derek walked up to Stiles and silently sat on the bench beside him. Stiles turned to look at who it was, jerking his head away when he realised it was Derek.

            “Hey,” said Derek. 

            “Hi.”

            Derek could hear the croak in Stiles voice, like he’d been screaming for hours and hours and all he had left was that one little syllable.

            “Am I supposed to say congratulations? Is that what’s called for in this situation.”

            Stiles laughed weakly and Derek could tell without looking he’d been crying. Not happy crying. Real, sorrowful, angry crying.

            “I’ll take it.”

            They sat for a moment longer in awkward silence before Stiles spoke again.

            “I thought you were going to ‘take the fucking hint and back off’,” said Stiles lightly.

            Derek felt the familiar twinge of anger, but it was hard to be angry at someone who’d  probably just been through every emotion under the sun in the space of four hours. It stung but it was supposed to.

            “Yeah, well I guess the message I got ‘loud and clear’ was the wrong fucking message. I know why you were so pissed that day. I stopped by the coffee house trying to find you. I know you don’t work there anymore.”

            Stiles was quiet for a moment before answering.

            “Well you know. Losing the only reason you can pay for your Dad’s hospital bills is bound to make a guy a bit pissy,” he said. “Has nothing to do with this though, whatever this is. I’m just… I’m just not that into you anymore.”

            Derek could see it now. The hitch in Stiles’ words as he tried to get them out, knowing they were lies. It was as clear as if he’d been listening to the skip of Stiles’ heartbeat.

            “If you mean it look me in the face and say that.”

            Stiles didn’t move a muscle. 

            Derek thought back to the resolution he’d made, the resolution to leave Stiles alone but he just couldn’t do it. Not now, not here when they were sat side by side close enough to touch. He needed to try, just one last time to try and make Stiles stop lying to him, to himself and Derek needed to do the same. One last attempt, all cards on the table. One last try and if Stiles wouldn’t take it then Derek would just have to live with that.

            “Isaac told me that you’ve been moping ever since that night.”

            Stiles held his breath for a moment, the steady clouds from his mouth stopping for a moment till he drew it in again.

            “Maybe I’m just tired of my brother being an ungrateful-” 

            “Stop Stiles,” said Derek turning to face him and for the first time Stiles looked at him. He looked even worse than the last time they’d met. He looked wretched, tired and lost. He did not look like someone who’s Dad had woken up out of a coma. “I know what you’re doing. I can see it now.”

            Stiles looked away.

            “I’m not doing anything.”

            “Bullshit!” said Derek. It made Stiles spasm beside him in shock, nearly falling off of the bench. “You think you’re being goddamn noble, giving up everything you want to help Isaac but all you’re doing is hurting yourself and making him feel even worse.”

            “You don’t know that…” Stiles started.

            “Yeah. I do. Because Isaac told me so. I like you Stiles, more than I wanted to admit to myself and more than I probably should considering all the bullshit you’ve put me through and I think behind all this noble sacrifice crap you’ve got going on you like me too. You need to look after your little brother, I get that, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have at least some of the things you want. Your dad’s awake now. You can start to live your own life again.”

            “Fine!” said Stiles angrily wiping away a tear. “I like you. A lot. More than I’ve liked anyone in a long time, perhaps ever. Is that what you wanted to hear? But just because my dad is awake doesn’t mean my life magically gets to be wonderful. He is still a long way from okay. A long way. He might never even be at okay again. Sure the bullet didn’t do that far in, but it was still in _his fucking brain!_ What if he can never talk properly? Or walk? Or form a goddamn coherent thought in his fucking head! Isaac is doing better in school but he’s still failing half his classes and I don’t know if he can turn it around in time. We have a bunch of medical bills I don’t know how we’re going to pay and I just lost my job and I… I…”

            “Stiles, stop it! Just stop it!” said Derek. “Don’t you get what you’re doing to yourself? To Isaac? You’re killing yourself and Isaac can see that. He knows if he wasn’t here you could still be in college, still be living a normal life. Now he realises the reason you can’t have another thing you want is because of him, can you imagine that guilt? What do you think your Dad would think if he knew what you were doing for him? Giving up your hopes and dreams even though it is the right thing to do?”

            He grabbed at Stiles hand, pinning it to his knee. His fingers were like stone, cold and hard. Derek could feel the hesitation but after a moment Stiles gripped him back. Derek wished he was better at this. Stiles needed comfort and what was he doing? Yelling at him for taking care of his family too thoroughly.

            “You’re allowed to have something for _you_ , Stiles. You’re allowed to be selfish once in a while. You need to be.”

            Stiles laughed weakly.

            “Are you kidding me? I’m one of the most selfish people I know. You should see me when it comes to movie night, I hog all the popcorn.”

            Derek didn’t doubt it. If there was something Stiles wanted he’d go for it and nothing would stand in his way. It was just that what he’d wanted for the past few months hadn’t been for himself.

            “I just,” Stiles continued. “I can’t. I want to. I so, so want to, but I can’t. Isaac…”

            Stiles trailed off. Derek could feel the want in every word, in the way Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand as if he knew when he let go he’d never get to hold it again. Derek reached over and took Stiles other hand, wrapping them up in his own and blowing his hot breath onto them. Stiles’ watched, mesmerised. The first few flakes of snow fell onto his fingers. It was a grey, half snow, the kind that didn’t settle right and just seemed to make everything grey rather than coating the world in white.

            “Isaac told me to date you,” said Derek.

            “What?” said Stiles, still transfixed by Derek’s hands on his.

            “He came up after class and asked me if I could date his brother.”

            “He said that?”

            Derek looked up at Stiles. There were snowflakes balancing on his lashes, the tracks of tears tracing down his face. Derek nodded and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Stiles hands, willing warmth to blossom amongst the ice.

            “That little fucker,” Stiles choked out.

            Stiles leaned his head forward so that it was touching Derek’s. Derek closed his eyes and tilted up, knowing that the kiss would be waiting for him. It was soft and gentle, like the fall of the snow around them as it muted the world. Derek released Stiles hands and pulled him into the embrace he’d wanted to give him for weeks, wrapping him like a blanket and sheltering him. Stiles curled up against him and let himself be comforted.

            “Come on,” said Derek. “You’re going to end up in hospital if you say out here much longer.”

            “I’m already in hospital, dumbass,” Stiles needled.

            “Yeah, but I thought you might not want to spend the night in one of the beds.”

            Derek uncoiled from Stiles and pulled him up so that they were facing each other. Stiles stepped in close to him, rubbing his hands along Derek’s face, the sudden cold making his already chilled skin twitch but he didn’t mind. Stiles pulled him close and kissed him again on the lips. It was longer this time, Stiles sliding his arms around Derek’s neck and clinging to the back of his shirt. He broke away with a sob.

            “What’s wrong?” Derek asked, pulling Stiles closer.

            Stiles leaned back from him, this time the tears in his eyes were accompanied by a broad smile.

            “This just officially became the best day. Ever.”

            Derek chortled, kissing Stiles again, before leading him inside where it was warm.

            He took Stiles to the bathroom first, running their hands under warm water to heat them up. It made his own chilled hands feel like fire but Stiles didn’t seem to mind it too much. He was just watching dumbly as Derek’s fingers washed over his own, the water running between them. 

            After, Derek slashed some of the water onto his face to warm that up too. Stiles did the same, attempting to wipe away the obvious signs that he’d been crying, but Derek could still tell if he looked at him for more than a second.

            “Let’s go see your Dad,” said Derek, kissing his forehead once again and leading him away but when they got to the room, the door was closed at the light was off.

            “It’s been a big day, he needs to rest,” said Scott’s Mom. “And so do you. You look like you’re about to fall over. Scott’s taken Isaac back to ours. He wanted to wait for you but Isaac seemed pretty insistent that he wanted to leave you here. Alone.”

            Stiles smiled weakly. The nurse looked at him and Derek, down to where their fingers entwined. Stiles hadn’t let go of Derek’s since he’d regained full motor control over them.

            “My shift is over in half an hour,” she said cautiously. “I can give you a ride if you don’t mind waiting.”

            Stiles hand tightened just slightly around Derek’s.

            “I can take him,” said Derek.

            The nurse raised her eyebrow but said nothing other than. She fixed Derek with a warning glance before looking firmly at Stiles. “Okay. You can stay at ours tonight if you don’t want to be alone.”

            Derek walked Stiles down to his car, not saying a word until they got there. Stiles almost seemed hesitant to let go of Derek’s hand to get in.

            “Can I…” he started but didn’t finish.

            “Go on,” said Derek. He ran his fingers through Stiles hair. “You can tell me whatever.”

            Stiles leaned forward onto him.

            “I feel like I should go to the McCall’s tonight. That I should be with my brother.”

            “But…” Derek coaxed.

            “But I’d rather spend the night with you. If you wanted to stay with me, that is.”

            He picked at Derek’s jacket over the last few words. Derek tilted Stiles’ head back and pressed another chaste kiss to his lips.

            “Try and stop me.”

            Stiles kissed back more passionately. It wasn’t just Stiles finally allowing himself to want this, all of this, but Derek too. After weeks of denying his true feelings for Stiles he let them all go relishing in the feel of the man in his arms. Derek let Stiles want him, let himself want Stiles in return, he gave himself to Stiles, caught him when he fell and promised himself he’d keep him safe.

            “Let’s get you home,” said Derek.

            As they drove back towards the Stilinski house, heaters on full, Stiles tapped out a text to Isaac. As they left the hospital car park, Stiles hand slumped forward, dropping his phone into the foot well as the warmth and vibrations lulled him into a much needed sleep.

 

*****

 

            The way to Stiles house was etched into Derek’s memory, despite him not realising it. Occasionally Derek would look over at Stiles beside him as he drove. He was slumped in an uncomfortable looking angle, the seat belt holding him in place and his head lolling forward. Derek could never look for long. The snow was making the road slippery beneath his tires.

            When Derek finally pulled up outside of Stiles’ house there was a thin film of white everywhere. Carefully, Derek tried to find the house keys without waking Stiles but his eyes fluttered open and he pulled them out himself. Derek kept an arm around Stiles’ waist when he got out the car, partly to be close to him, partly to support him. He was still half asleep and Derek didn’t want him to fall and hurt himself.

            Inside the house was nearly as cold as it was outside. It occurred to Derek that they probably couldn’t afford to have the heating on all the time. Derek guided Stiles upstairs. There was a blanket across Stiles’ bed and Derek wrapped him in it straight away. Stiles sunk back down onto the bed and silently let Derek take off his shoes and his pants, stretching his arms high above his head like a kindergartener so that take off his hoody. He crawled beneath the covers and Derek stroked his hair. Stiles reached out and took hold of Derek’s hand.

            “Thank you,” he whispered, before yawning wide.

            Derek leaned down and pressed his lips to the corner of Stiles’ mouth. He could hear the long slow breaths Stiles made as he fell back into slumber.

            “You’re welcome.”

            It was still only seven or eight in the evening but Derek didn’t want to leave Stiles alone in this huge, cold room, not when Stiles so badly needed his warmth. Instead he undressed himself and climbed in beside Stiles, pulling covers and blankets tightly around them both. He watched Stiles face in what dim light there was, the care and worry falling away in sleep and the small rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. Before long Derek was fast asleep too.

 

*****

 

            It was still dark when Derek woke up to find Stiles gently picking his way out of his arms. Derek blinked up at him but Stiles just smiled and kissed him before standing and walking out the room. Bathroom run, Derek surmised.

            He sat up in bed and stretched, checking his watch. Just after five in the morning. He’d have to be in work in a few hours. Could he get away with wearing the same clothes he did yesterday so he wouldn’t have to go home? Would the kids notice? Would they care?

            Getting up, he walked over to the window and peeked out through the blinds. It looked like the snow fall had just been a brief flurry but there was still some on the ground. The world looked muted, bleached of its colour and life leaving only a blank canvas behind. Behind him Stiles was padding softly into the room, slipping arms round his waist.

            “Morning,” he said, voice muffled by Derek’s neck.

            “Morning,” said Derek.

            He twisted around and kissed Stiles, well and hard. Stiles clung to him as if Derek would just float away into the ether if he didn’t. Derek let their mouths move over each other calmly. He put his hands firmly around Stiles’ waist and let their bodies mould against each other. He could feel the hard press of Stiles against his thigh. He moved against it deliberately. Beneath his mouth Stiles moaned.

            Derek pulled away to scan across Stiles face, taking in every beautiful feature while Stiles did the same. Stiles ran a tongue across his lips and Derek wanted to catch it with his own. He stared at it longingly, questioningly, seeking permission to just take, take, take. Stiles hands ran through Derek’s hair and nodded, eyes on Derek’s lips.

            They pushed together again, Derek taking a step back and Stiles folding down onto the bed. Derek lay over him, his body pressing down against Stiles’. He worried that he might be crushing him, but the man just hitched his knees up about Derek’s waist and let himself arch and curve into Derek. They lay there, just kissing, hands travelling no further than to caress up and down Stiles’ arms, side and face, a blanket thrown over them to keep in their mingled warmth in.

            After a long while Derek could feel Stiles thrusting up with his hips, over and over, gentle but insistent. Derek met his motions and Stiles groaned against his mouth. Derek turned his attention to Stiles’ neck, kissing along its length. He disappeared beneath the covers, trailing down Stiles body making it quiver and shake. He couldn’t see but he didn’t need to. He let his lips find their way across Stiles’ body, tracking out his muscles. There was no desperation or urgency like there’d been their first time together. Derek took his time making sure that every inch of Stiles’ body was seen to. He listened to every sigh and gasp as he caressed Stiles. This wasn’t going to be the last time Derek did this, he was going to make sure of that. He wanted to remember every place that made Stiles twitch and buck so that he could return to them over and over again.

            Finally Derek licked down the length of Stiles’ cock. Stiles let out a long low groan that Derek filed away in his memory so that he would always remember it. As Derek moved up and down, Stiles ground in tandem, the two of them working together in perfect motion. Derek alternated the motion of his hands between Stiles’ shaft and rubbing at the cleft in his ass, delving as much as he could without risking hurting him. Every time he pulled at Stiles hole he felt it spasm, calling him in, could hear the hitch in Stiles’ breath. Stiles didn’t push him away but Derek could tell he was nearing the edge. His bucking was more furious, his breaths more ragged and his fingers twisted harder into Derek’s hair. Derek didn’t back off, instead continued to suck Stiles until he came, hot and thick, into Derek’s mouth. He let it trickle down his throat, not stopping his motions until he was sure that Stiles was totally finished, a panting, shivering mess beneath him, fingers still scrunching into Derek’s hair.

            Derek licked his way back up to Stiles’ face. He looked like he was about to fall asleep again but was fighting the urge. He smiled drunkenly at Derek, pressing his tongue into Derek’s mouth without hesitation. Stiles must have been able to taste himself in Derek’s mouth but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, it seemed to be turning him on again. Stiles rocked back and forth, urging Derek on without the need for words, hitching his legs back up on Derek’s hips to force their waists together even more. He reached out towards the side table feebly and Derek took the hint, grabbing out the lube and condoms. Stiles dug his fingers into the flesh of Derek’s back as he leaned over and he could feel Stiles tracing the lines of the tattoo on his back.

            Stiles sighed as Derek slid back between Stiles legs and prepared him. Stiles lolled about, welcoming in Derek’s probes and slickness. When Derek slowly rubbed himself backwards and forwards along Stiles’ ass, the man arched his back upwards until Derek couldn’t take it anymore. He slid into Stiles agonisingly slowly, watching the play of pain and pleasure on Stiles’ face. When he was finally buried inside of Stiles, he leaned back down so that their faces were inches away from each other. He rolled his hips, once again finding the right rhythm. Stiles made a noise like an ache, like he was breaking apart slowly under Derek’s touch. It had been weeks since Derek had even jerked off and the feel of Stiles, so close and hot against him, brought him over and he came within minutes, Stiles tongue against his. 

            They lay together, kissing, smiling, laughing, until their sweat turned stale and the feeling of drying come out weighed the intense happiness of simply being together. Turning onto his side, Derek ran his fingers down Stiles’ face again.

            “Good Morning,” said Derek.

            “We did that already,” Stiles grinned. 

            “I know. But it is. A very, very good morning.” Derek pulled on Stiles’ lower lip. “I could get used to mornings like this.”

            Stiles nibbled on the end of Derek’s finger.

            “Me too. When do you have to be at work?” 

            “Not for at least another hour. I’ve got time.”

            “Time enough for a shower?”

            “Definitely,” said Derek. “I think a shower is definitely called for. You wanna help scrub my back?”

            “Definitely,” Stiles said but he yawned again and made no move to get up out of bed. Derek didn’t mind. It wouldn’t cause the school to collapse if he was a bit late this morning.

            Stiles squirreled closer in the bed, his head falling across Derek’s chest.

            “I think I might be in danger of falling for you,” Stiles whispered.

            “I think I might be in danger of letting you,” said Derek.

 

*****

 

_A year or two later_

            “You sure you’ll be okay,” said Stiles.

            “I’m fine,” said his Dad.

            Stiles tried to wrestle the box out of his father’s hand the second he bent down to pick it up. His Dad jerked it back, asserting that he could pick up a damn box if he damn well wanted to.

            Derek and Isaac shared a quiet laugh as they loaded up the rest of the boxes into the back of Stiles’ Jeep.

            “Stiles is going to call him literally every day, isn’t he?” said Isaac.

            “Twice,” said Derek. “At least. He’ll be even worse next year when you head off to college too.”

            Isaac rolled his eyes but had learned to stop questioning Derek. When Stiles had received his acceptance letter for MIT, Derek had subtly moved all the college brochures from Stiles’ room into Isaac’s. He was nothing if not persistent. Derek would get that kid into college if he had to drag him there himself.

            Across the driveway Stiles’ Dad was throwing his hands up in the air and taking a step back while his son picked up the last box and hefted it into the back. John’s hair had mostly grown over it but you could still see the scar left by the bullet if you looked closely. Really closely. John was still healing on the inside. He had to learn a lot of things again, and often go frustrated at how long it took, but the doctors had said that because he’d had such an active and inquisitive mind before the accident his healing had been phenomenally fast.

            “That’s it,” said Stiles, slamming the door shut. “All loaded up.”

            He surveyed the backseat, his entire life condensed down to the most basic essentials of clothes and books. The Sheriff gave Derek a meaningful glance as he and Isaac backed away, leaving the two of them. Derek put his arm around Stiles’ shoulder as the kid nibbled on his finger nails.

            “Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Stiles muttered.

            “Stiles…”

            “It’s the other side of the country. What if something happens?”

            “Stiles…”

            “It’s not too late. I can all admissions and-”

            “Stiles!”

            Stiles jumped as Derek yelled at him, breaking out of his litany.

            “What?”

            “You’re going to go to MIT. I did not spend all that time forcing you to reapply for you to back out now.”

            Derek had had to stand over Stiles’ shoulder as he wrote every word of his scholarship essay, the story of a young boy who gave up everything to look after his family, milking his hardship and adversity for all it was worth. The sob story had worked. Stiles had gotten a full ride.

            “I’m going to miss you,” said Stiles, leaning against Derek’s chest.

            “It’s only for a little while,” said Derek. He hadn’t told Stiles but he’d already been looking for teaching jobs in the area. He had an interview in a few weeks. “Besides, why are you missing me now? We’ve got a week long road trip to look forward to.”

            “Mhmm,” said Stiles. “Just you, me and the open road. You’re so going to kill me before we even reach the first hotel.”

            Derek shook his head and kissed Stiles.

            “I love you, Stiles.”

            “Love you too.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings:  
> Mild drug use  
> References to past child abuse.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! This took freaking ages to write, so thank you for spending your time reading it.
> 
> As always I crave constructive critisism and feedback so if you have any comments on my work, good or bad, please leave them at the end so I can make the next fic even better. 
> 
> If you want you can follow me on my [tumblr](tanwencooper.tumblr.com) which is mostly Sterek stuff.
> 
> The artist in the coffee shop was Vienna Teng singing "The Boy at the Piano" off of her album Warm Strangers.


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